


The Art Class

by LoveMeSomeRafael



Category: Captain America, Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Artist Steve, Because have we met?, Bottom Bucky, Brooklyn 1939, Bucky is a little shit, First Time, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nude Model Bucky, Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Slow Burn, Steve is a virgin but man he's a quick learner, Stucky - Freeform, Swearing, Top Steve, and they were ROOMMATES, pre-war stucky, shrinkyclinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28178973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveMeSomeRafael/pseuds/LoveMeSomeRafael
Summary: It's 1939.  Steve and Bucky are roommates in a tiny little flat, doing everything they can to keep afloat at the tail end of the Depression.  Through a series of chance events, Steve gets the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to take a life drawing class with one of his favorite pen and ink artists.  What he doesn't know is that the model they'll be working with is - you guessed it.  Their secret attraction to each other has been difficult enough, but now Steve will be spending two hours a week staring at Bucky's nude body, and Bucky will be trying to fight what that look in Steve's eyes does to him.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 24
Kudos: 132
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets a chance to take a life drawing class from one of his favorite pen and ink artists. It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and he is over the moon.

Although girls always seemed immune to Steve Rogers’s charm, mature women loved him. His frailty and unfailing politeness brought out their maternal instincts, which meant they were always trying to feed him or make him put on a sweater. Bucky never missed a chance to make fun of him for it, but he was a little jealous, too. Motherly types all wanted their daughters to meet Steve, “Such a nice, polite boy.” Those same mothers took one look at Bucky and pulled their daughters close by their sides. 

Steve hated being thought of as pathetic and scrawny. He would much rather have women think of him as a wolf who might be a danger to their daughters’ virtue, like they did Bucky. Instead, they made a fuss over him, pinching his cheeks and saying, “Why, you’re no bigger than a minute!” It was humiliating, especially when they did it in front of those daughters, whose virtue he’d _like_ to be able to endanger.

But when a complete fluke resulted in Steve being commissioned by railroad tycoon Rutherford Carlyle to draw a portrait of his wife for her birthday, he played the “moms love me” card for all it was worth. He worked as hard as he ever had in his life to make Mrs. Carlyle like him. After all, one commission from a rich lady could lead to more if he played his cards right. 

The Carlyles weren’t Vanderbilts or Astors, but they did live in a townhouse in the vicinity of the gilded mansions of Fifth Avenue. Mrs. Carlyle was an extremely vain and self-centered woman, which worked to Steve’s advantage, because it meant that she was perfectly happy to sit for as long as Steve wanted to study and draw her. Exactly the opposite of Bucky, who would never hold still, so that Steve always had to draw him from memory. 

Mrs. Carlyle wasn’t bad. She was kind and polite to Steve, and kept up a pretty interesting prattle while she posed. Steve found it fascinating to listen to the things a very wealthy woman considered problems. Steve’s mom had worked until her hands were red and chapped just so that she and Steve could survive, while Mrs. Carlyle complained once that her lady’s maid had botched her manicure. Most mind-boggling of all, Mrs. Carlyle seemed to have no idea that there was any other way to live. She once asked Steve where his mother had sent him to boarding school.

During her last sitting, she bemoaned the fact that she was being forced to give her children’s nanny a day off to attend the girl’s mother’s funeral. 

“It’s quite inconvenient, to be sure, Steven. Who will take care of the children that day? It isn’t as though Cook or Mrs. Tillis – that’s our housekeeper, you know – will do it. But Mr. Carlyle has put his foot down. He says I simply must give the girl the day off. I’m quite beside myself. What am I to do?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. That sounds rough.”

“It certainly is,” she snapped. After a moment, however, she seemed to get an idea. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “Steven, you wouldn’t happen to know anyone who might be able to do it, would you? I’m offering four dollars for the day, seven in the morning until the children’s bedtime at eight. Mind you, the girl would have to be qualified, and a very nice sort of girl.”

Steve hardly knew any girls at all. Bucky was the one who knew every girl in Brooklyn. He began to shrug, but then he followed that train of thought. 

“Does it have to be a girl?” Steve asked, in his best “gee whiz” voice.

Mrs. Carlyle now raised both eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Well, ma’am, my roommate is real good with kids. He has three little sisters, been babysittin’ them for years. You’d like him, ma’am, everybody does, and I’m sure he’d be happy to do it.” 

“But a boy? I don’t know…”

“He’s twenty-two, Mrs. Carlyle. And he’s real responsible and all.” 

“I don’t know, Steven. I’ll have to think about it.”

In the end, Mrs. Carlyle had been forced to hire Bucky because she couldn’t get anyone else to do it. She’d been up against two formidable obstacles. First, she didn’t know anyone but Steve who could appreciate how much money four dollars for a day’s work was in the real world. And second, word had gotten around about the Carlyle kids. There were five of them, ranging in age from two to eight, and even from his very short interactions with them, Steve could see they were spoiled little monsters. 

Which opinion he did not share with Bucky when he told him about the job. He knew Bucky would do it; it was 1939 and Steve and Bucky were flat broke most of the time, like everyone else. They’d do pretty much anything for dough, and babysitting wasn’t even close to the worst odd job either of them had taken. But he probably oughtta have warned Buck what he was getting into.

Now it was too late. Steve told himself that he hadn’t wanted to prejudice Bucky against the Carlyle children. Bucky was good with kids; he could handle it. And maybe, between the novelty of having a male babysitter and Bucky’s natural charm, the kids would actually behave. 

Either way, Steve was about to find out. It was well after eight at night, which meant that Bucky would have put the kids to bed by now, and should be home soon. So he sat at the window, looking up from his newspaper every minute or so, watching for Bucky to appear, loping down the street in that cocky, athletic strut that was uniquely Bucky. Steve would know him by his walk alone, long before he reached the cone of light under the streetlamp and Steve could see his features. The same way he knew the sound of Bucky’s tread on the stairs and his step on the walkway outside their apartment door.

When Bucky did appear, Steve moved quickly away from the window and threw himself onto their threadbare couch, scattering the sections of the paper around so it would look like he’d been relaxing with the paper instead of waiting for Bucky at the window. Wouldn’t do to look too guilty if Buck was really sore about being roped into spending a whole day with the Carlyle kids.

Except that, almost at the same time he heard Bucky bounding up the stairs, he heard his faint whistling. Next came the familiar scrape of Bucky’s key in the door, and then he was in the little kitchen, now murmuring the song in that slightly off-key way he had. Bucky could sing in tune when he wanted to, but just like his day-to-day vocabulary, he didn’t bother much with refinement. Whenever his mother would get on him about “talking like a bum,” he’d just shrug and say he’d leave the fancy talk to King George. 

“ _Oh I wonder who's buying the wine… For the lips that I used to call mine_ …” Bucky sang under his breath as he hung up his coat.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greeted him in what he hoped was an offhand way. “Have a good day?”

“Did I!” Bucky answered, surprisingly upbeat. “That’s some snazzy house, huh? And that playroom – wanted to lock the kids out and just play with all the toys myself,” he laughed. 

“Yeah?” Steve asked, looking up from the paper unable to hide his wonder. “The kids weren’t… didn’t give you too much trouble?”

Bucky picked up a section of the paper to plop down on the couch next to Steve, laying his head back. “Nah. They were little angels.”

Now Steve had a dilemma. He wanted to ask if Bucky was being serious, but if he did, he risked tipping his hand and letting Bucky know he hadn’t told him everything he knew about the Carlyle children. Which set him to squinting at his newspaper. He knew Bucky too well. There was a very good chance that was exactly what Bucky intended. It would be just like him to try to maneuver Steve into a confession rather than simply letting him have it. So he stayed quiet. 

“Four bucks, pal. It’s only the middle of the month, and we’re already sure of makin’ the rent,” Bucky observed with apparent satisfaction. “You get up to anything interesting today?”

“Worked down at Hogan’s. You know that.”

“Oh, yeah. How’s the shelf-stocking business?”

“Ring-a-ding-ding,” Steve sighed. “But it pays. That’s all that matters.”

“I guess Hogan let you have yesterday’s paper, huh?” Bucky asks, shaking the section he was holding. “Anything good?”

“Not really. Hitler’s building up the German Navy now. I told you appeasing him wasn’t gonna work. And he’s gettin’ awful chummy with Mussolini.”

“Shit. Just gimme the funnies. Had enough aggression for one day.”

Steve looked over at Bucky. “What aggression? Thought you said the kids were little angels.”

Bucky’s expression was suddenly a little too blank, his eyes widening innocently as he smiled. “They were. Why wouldn’t they be?”

“No reason,” Steve answered, shoving at Bucky with his shoulder as he handed him the comics section of the newspaper. 

_Oh, yeah. He was up to something_. Steve knew in his bones that Bucky was planning his revenge for his day with the Carlyle kids.

* * *

Steve slouched in the door, exhausted from a day cleaning, stocking, and serving customers at Hogan’s grocery. It was a mile walk there and back, which could be nice on a sunny, warm day, but it was mid-April. He was chilled through, even with the newspaper lining his too-thin coat, and his feet were soaked and freezing from the wet slush it was impossible to avoid entirely on the sidewalks. 

As expected, Bucky was already home and cooking. Steve had hoped the cabbage he smelled cooking wasn’t their dinner, but upon opening the door, it became apparent that he was out of luck. Fried cabbage and pasta wasn’t delicious or even particularly appetizing, but it was cheap and it was filling, so they ate it much more often than they wanted to. They’d eaten the last of their ham the night before, too, which meant there wouldn’t even be any meat in it. 

Steve grunted a greeting to Bucky as he took off his coat and started toward the living area of their tiny apartment.

“Uh-uh, bub. Lemme see,” Bucky stopped him.

“C’mon, Buck, you ain’t my Ma.”

“Well, somebody has to be, ‘cause you still need one. Show me your socks.”

“Dammit, Buck!”

“Don’t ‘Dammit Buck’ me. The mere fact that you’re gripin’ means your feet are wet. Go get in the bath before I toss you in there. Just ‘cause winter’s almost over don’t mean you can’t get pneumonia again before it gets warm.”

“How’d I get stuck livin’ with the worst wet blanket in New York?” Steve grumbled, but he turned around and headed toward the bathroom. 

“Just lucky, I guess,” Bucky smirked.

“Jerk.”

Steve reached the bathroom and reluctantly pulled his towel off the rack, then went to the bedroom to get dry clothes to put on after his bath. When he had what he needed, he trudged back through the kitchen to the door. “How long do I got?”

“Don’t worry about it. Take enough time to make sure you’re warm all the way through. I’ll keep dinner hot. Go.”

Steve made sure to groan again in protest as he opened the door. The apartment had a tiny bathroom, with a sink and toilet, but for bathing, they had to use the communal bathroom for their floor, which had a tub. 

Fifteen minutes later, Steve let himself back into the apartment to find Bucky sitting at the table with a flimsy but brightly-colored comic book spread out in front of him. He glanced up as the door opened, seeing Steve looking red-cheeked and freshly-scrubbed, his hair still wet but neatly combed. Bucky scraped his chair back from the table. 

“Good bath?”

“Shut up.”

“Well, you’re warm now, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“Siddown,” Bucky mumbled, opening the oven door and taking out two plates. 

Steve pulled out his chair, setting his wet clothes and towel on the extra one. Bucky already had the mismatched silverware laid out and a glass of tap water for each of them on the table. The glasses didn’t match, although they had each started life as jam jars. 

“Hey, Action Comics!” Steve cried, looking at the comic book Bucky had been reading.

“Yeah. Lydecker down at the docks let me borrow it. It’s the one with that new guy, Superman.”

“How is it?”

“Pretty keen so far. He scares a crooked Senator into confessing by jumping from building to building with him.”

“Sounds good. Can I read it when you’re done?”

“What do you think?” Bucky rolled his eyes at such a dumb question. As if they didn’t share everything. He moved the comic book and set Steve’s plate down before him. In doing so, he nudged an envelope sitting at the far edge of the small table.

What’s that?” Steve asked, noticing the envelope for the first time.

“Dunno. It’s addressed to you.”

Steve reached for the envelope, curiosity eclipsing his hunger for the moment. He picked up his knife and slit the top, reaching in to pull out a piece of thick paper that looked like an oversized ticket. Bucky ate silently, seemingly absorbed in his dinner, uninspiring as it was. 

“Buck, you ain’t gonna believe this!” Steve cried. He looked up, eyes alight and face flushed, far too distracted to notice the odd set to Bucky’s expression.

“What is it?”

“I’m invited to a drawing course being given by Wilson Thomas! Wilson Thomas, Buck, you know who that is?”

“Should I?”

“He’s only the best pen-and-ink artist in America! This is— Mrs. Carlyle is inviting me as her special guest, why would she do that?” 

Bucky couldn’t help laughing at Steve’s reaction to the invitation. He was obviously thrilled, even a little overwhelmed. The thought went through Bucky’s mind that Steve didn’t have enough in his life that made him this happy. 

“Maybe ‘cause she knows you’re an artist, genius. You did just finish a drawing of her.”

“Bucky, you don’t understand! This is Wilson Thomas! You musta heard me talkin’ about him, he’s one of my favorites! That cityscape in our bedroom? That’s his. You know you like that one.”

“Huh. I guess. Anyway, eat your dinner before it gets cold. It ain’t that good even when it’s hot.” 

As they ate their meatless meal, Bucky asked, “I thought you said the guy who drew that picture in our room was famous. What’s he doin’ givin’ classes to meatheads like you?”

“Must be down on his luck, like the rest of us. I heard even some big Broadway stars are givin’ music lessons. The ones who didn’t move to Hollywood, that is. Jeez, Buck, this is a dream come true! I can hardly believe it’s real!”

“That’s real swell, Stevie. What do you do in an art class?”

“This one’s life drawing.”

“You don’t say,” Bucky deadpanned.

“It means drawing people, models who are there in the classroom. Usually they’re nude.”

“No foolin’?” Bucky exclaimed, a wicked gleam in his eye suddenly. “What, dames?”

Steve shook his head and gave Bucky a dirty look. “It ain’t like that, Bucky, drawin’ nudes is one of the classic methods of training artists. The human figure is hard as hell to draw. Figure drawing ain’t just sittin’ there eyeballin’ a naked girl. There’re all sorts of technical challenges to drawing human bodies. That’s why it’s used for teaching.”

“Sounds like my kind of challenge! Can I come with?”

“Don’t be a child, Bucky. And no, you can’t come with. I can just imagine how obnoxious you’d be.”

“Me? Obnoxious?”

Steve gave Bucky another dirty look, rolling his eyes theatrically, and they both laughed as they went back to eating.

* * *

The next two weeks seemed to drag for Steve, who talked of little else besides the upcoming life drawing class. He’d written an extremely polite thank you letter to Mrs. Carlyle, trying as best he could to express how very grateful he was for her generosity. 

At dinner one night, he was again expressing his wonderment that she’d invited _him_ , instead of one of her rich, artsy friends. Bucky just called him a dope and said it was obvious why she’d done it. 

“You got talent, Steve. You know you do. These swells, some of ‘em know art, and she’s seen your work. Stop sellin’ yourself short, and her, too. She obviously knows talent when she sees it, and thought she’d impress this Wilson Thomas guy by bringing him a student worthy of him.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said, blushing and looking down at his plate. He’d made Hoover stew, which was cooked macaroni mixed with hot dogs, stewed tomatoes and canned corn. It wasn’t fancy, but it followed what Bucky called the three commandments: it was cheap, hot, and filling. 

Bucky looked across the table at Steve, shaking his head a little. It seemed incredible to him that Steve could be as genuinely humble as he was about his talent. He wasn’t buttering Steve up. He didn’t know much about art, but he knew that Steve’s drawings were undeniably beautiful. They also made people feel things, whether it was a silly drawing that made people happy, a cityscape in which you could sense the bustle and energy of the Brooklyn streets, or a portrait imbued with emotion and meaning. 

His drawings of Bucky (of which there were hundreds, since Bucky was always around) ran the gamut. There was one stark picture of him, wrapped up in his coat, curled up on their old couch wearing a hat and mittens, covered by a blanket reading a book while snow fell outside the frosted window. Even though it was of him, the picture made Bucky feel the cold and the bleak struggle of the Depression. There was another of Bucky in front of the bathroom sink, looking in the mirror and combing pomade into his hair as he got ready to go dancing. The way he was standing and the expression on his face spoke clearly of his excitement about the evening, and not a little about his vanity. Steve denied it, but Bucky knew what he saw in the picture, and he also knew it wasn’t untrue. He didn’t mind, because there was an extraordinary fondness in the drawing, too. 

And then there were the ones that made Bucky feel something else. There was never anything remotely sexual in the drawings, even though sometimes he was shirtless or wearing just an undershirt, or even asleep. But something about them seemed extremely… intimate. The way they were drawn somehow reminded Bucky of the way one lover would look at another. But that was probably just Bucky’s wild imagination seeing what, in his deepest and most closely-guarded secret heart, he wanted to see. 

* * *

Finally, the day of the first class arrived. There were to be five two-hour classes, one a week for five weeks. Steve had been up early that morning, too excited to sleep even though the class wasn’t until that afternoon. Bucky seemed to be a little keyed up, too, but when Steve asked about it, Bucky simply laughed.

“Are you kiddin’ me? How’m I supposed to be calm, living with the human live wire? Have you even sat still for five minutes together in the last week?”

“Sorry if it’s botherin’ you. This is just a real big deal for me.”

They were standing next to one another at the kitchen sink, just finishing washing the lunch dishes. Bucky put a hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed. When Steve turned his head, he saw that Bucky was smiling warmly at him. 

“Hey. I’m just bustin’ your chops. I’m real happy for you gettin’ to do this class with your hero, Steve. You go ahead and be as excited as you want.”

“Thanks, Buck. It really is like a dream.”

“I’ve had dreams like that, too, pal. Starin’ at a nude broad for two hours straight.”

“You’re impossible!” Steve shouted, laughing as he threw the dishtowel at Bucky, who laughed along with him.

“I hope she’s a real looker, so you get all hot and bothered and end up just drawin’ a stick lady so there’s somethin’ on your paper.”

“You are an uncultured, doll-dizzy crumb, and I don’t know why I pal around with you.”

“Those are all my best qualities. And you pal around with me because you got an unfortunate habit of gettin’ yourself into scrapes with fellas twice your size. Anyway, I gotta get goin’. I picked up a job for this afternoon. Have fun at your class. I wanna hear all about it after.”

“I’ll tell you everything, but only if you promise to be respectful. Life drawing models are not sex objects.”

“Yeah, yeah—” Bucky waved dismissively, chuckling as he reached for his coat. Once he’d put it on, he reached for a fabric bundle Steve hadn’t noticed sitting on the floor under the coat hooks on the wall.

“Is that your bathrobe? What the heck do you need your bathrobe for?”

“Got a tear in it. You know that.”

“Yeah? So?”

“Takin’ it home to my mom to have her sew it up. I’m gonna drop it off on my way to the, uh, job.”

Steve simply shrugged and hung up the dishtowel. He had bigger things on his mind than the tear that had been in Bucky’s robe for years. He went to change into a shirt and tie, and his best slacks. In less than an hour, he was going to get to meet Wilson Thomas. He would never be able to thank Mrs. Carlyle enough for this opportunity.

* * *

The class was held in a space that had formerly been an art gallery, before the Depression had forced the owners into bankruptcy. When Steve arrived, breathless and more nervous than he could ever remember being (and Steve was a very nervous guy), he found himself in a modest, all-white sort of reception room, with a wide doorway leading into the gallery space. 

The first person he noticed was Wilson Thomas, standing in the center of the small group of people who had arrived this early. He was about seventy, grizzled but with an oddly grand aura. His salt-and-pepper hair was a bit wild, and he wore a suit that was obviously expensive, but threadbare in places. Steve felt a tightness in his chest as he approached the group.

Although he was absolutely intimidated by the idea that he was standing with the great Wilson Thomas, Steve stood tall and caught his eye. 

“What do you need, son? I’m giving a class here,” the great man barked gruffly at him.

“Yes, sir. That’s why I’m here.” From his pocket, Steve produced the invitation he’d received in the mail. 

“Oh, excuse me,” Thomas said, waving his hand and having the grace to look a little abashed. 

“Steve Rogers, sir,” Steve introduced himself, pushing his bangs out of his eyes before extending his hand. 

“Oh, so you’re the one. I saw the piece you did for Bitsy Carlyle. Some promise there, I think.”

Steve stopped breathing. He was pretty sure the world stopped spinning as he took in the idea that Wilson Thomas had seen his work, and thought he had promise. He felt like he could’ve died right then and have lived a full life. For long minutes afterward, he simply stood dumbstruck, not listening to the conversation that flowed around him as other students arrived and introduced themselves, or were introduced, to the artist. 

Steve was a little relieved when Mrs. Carlyle arrived. It was nice to see a familiar, friendly face. There were a total of twelve people in the class, most of whom were clearly wealthy. He’d expected that – nobody else had money to spend on an art class – and he’d expected to be ignored, or worse. He’d developed a thick skin, and he would’ve endured far more for the opportunity to study with Wilson Thomas, but that didn’t mean he was comfortable. Besides, it was his first chance to thank Mrs. Carlyle in person.

“Oh, hello, Steven. Isn’t this exciting?”

“Yes, ma’am, it’s very exciting, and I have to thank you again for this opportunity. It’s beyond generous.”

Mrs. Carlyle blinked. “Well, I didn’t— I suppose I was the one to propose the idea to Wilson. But I don’t know if I’d call that generosity, exactly. It was—”

At that moment, Thomas clapped his hands and said loudly, “Everyone, welcome. I believe we’re all here, so let us go into the gallery and get started.”

Most of the class was made up of ladies who seemed to be from Mrs. Carlyle’s social set. Of the twelve students, only five were men. Two seemed to be artist types, judging from their somewhat unconventional appearance and some comments they’d made. Steve couldn’t get a read on the two others, who were well-groomed and wore simple suits and hats like most men. 

He hung back to let the ladies enter the other room first, falling into step behind them once they were leading the way into the large white gallery space. The room was spacious, with a large window letting in late-afternoon light. As he expected, there was a circle of easels set up, large drawing pads resting on each. Pencils and charcoal sat in the trays of each easel. In the center of the circle was a simple space where a hip-high, four-legged stool had been placed for the model. 

Steve and the other students took a moment to choose their spaces and look at the drawing materials. Like Steve, many had brought smocks of some kind to cover their clothing so that they didn’t get charcoal on them. After quickly inspecting his easel and covering his clothes with the raggedy old shirt that had belonged to Bucky’s dad, Steve looked up to scan the room for the model they’d be drawing.

And that’s when he saw Bucky, barefoot and wrapped in his bathrobe – the one with the tear in it – standing off toward a back corner of the room, grinning at Steve for all he was worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to LittleWolf82 for the outstanding, inspiring art and the cheerleading. It has been my absolute pleasure to work with you, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. The art is just adorable! Thanks, too, for teaching me that I was wrong - I actually kinda do ship shrinkyclinks.  
> Thank you, also, to Bicappy, who had the unenviable task of beta-ing for me. I so appreciate your great catches and your suggestions. This fic is much better because of you.   
> Last but not least, thank you to the Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020 mods, for putting this delightful team together!


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **More art!!!** The art that started it all...
> 
> Steve makes it through the first art class - he's not going to let this opportunity go by, no matter how he feels about Bucky. Bucky realizes his prank might have backfired a little, because the way Steve is looking at him is _doing things_ to him.

* * *

Shock drained all the blood from Steve’s face, only for it to come rushing immediately back in the form of a flaming hot blush. Bucky was here, wearing a bathrobe, which meant… 

“What’s the big idea?” Steve cried, his voice cutting through all the chatter and bustle of the class settling in. Everyone in the room turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” Wilson Thomas said, moving over to Bucky from where he had been assisting students to adjust their easels. “I thought you two knew one another. I was under the impression that—”

“Oh, it’s no sweat, Mr. Thomas,” Bucky offered easily, with his most charming smile. “We’re roommates. It’s just that he didn’t know I’d be your model today. I thought I’d surprise him. Surprise, Stevie!”

Steve had absolutely no idea how to feel in this moment. His head was already swimming with the excitement of studying with no less a talent than Wilson Thomas, and he was still a little dizzy from the almost-compliment the artist had given Steve’s portrait of Mrs. Carlyle. But Bucky, here— 

“Oh, how amusing!” Mrs. Carlyle tittered. “You didn’t tell me it was a secret, James. I’m glad I didn’t spill the beans. You see, Steven, dear Wilson had shared that he was in need of a model for this class, and he is very particular. So when James came over to sit with the children and I saw how, well, ah— Why, I immediately contacted Wilson. And here we are.”

“Yes, here we are,” Thomas interjected brusquely, taking control of the class. “So, Mr. Barnes, if you’re quite ready, let’s begin with our first pose.”

He waved a hand toward the model’s stool and, with that, Bucky pulled at the tie of his robe and strode to the center of the circle of easels. As easily as he might shrug off a coat, he pulled his robe from his shoulders and stood, naked as the day he was born, before the stool.

“So, how do you want me?”

Steve watched, face flushed scarlet, as Wilson Thomas took Bucky’s robe from him and folded it to set on the seat of the stool. He then gestured for Bucky to sit. The easels were placed in a circle around the stool, so that each of the students had a different perspective of the model, which meant that some of the class, naturally, were looking at Bucky’s back. 

Not Steve. 

Bucky looked directly at Steve as he sat, fully facing him, making absolutely no attempt to hide his wicked grin while Wilson Thomas guided his limbs into position. Steve tried valiantly to give Bucky the annoyed, slightly contemptuous frown of disapproval he’d given him seventeen times a day for at least the last decade, but failed utterly. He knew he did. Besides the blush he could feel burning in his cheeks, he couldn’t seem to do anything about the fact that his mouth was hanging open in stupefied astonishment. 

Yet somehow, despite Steve’s extreme self-consciousness and discomfort, Bucky seemed to be entirely at ease. He was even able to smirk at Steve, silently crowing with mirth at having agitated Steve so thoroughly. This, despite the fact that Steve had taken a few life drawing classes, but he knew for an absolute fact that it was the first time Bucky had posed nude in front of a roomful of people. 

Then again, Steve thought, as Mr. Thomas began to explain their first exercise, Bucky certainly had nothing to be ashamed of. It was far from the first time Steve had seen Bucky naked, but it was definitely the first time he’d, well, _stared._ Bucky’s body was breathtaking. Every plane, every angle, was exquisite. Steve had often thought, when drawing Bucky, about the beauty of his features. He’d actually longed to draw him nude, from a purely artistic perspective, for that very reason. Well, he was about to get his chance, if he could relax enough to do it. 

Not likely. Because there was another problem.

Even as knocked off-balance as he was by the shock of finding Bucky here, Steve could still feel the familiar tendrils of heat begin to curl through him as Bucky sat, fully bared to his eyes. In his pants pockets, Steve curled his hands into fists hard enough to hurt. _Not this_ . _Not now_. He scowled, trying to will away the traitorous feelings he’d been fighting to keep suppressed for a few years now. He’d given up trying to pretend he could eradicate them. Filthy and shameful as they were, he knew by now they weren’t going away. God knew how hard he’d tried. But for Bucky’s sake – and for his own – he could and would keep them ruthlessly restrained. 

At that moment, Bucky caught his eye and winked. Of all the people in the room, only Steve knew him well enough to see how amused he was by the whole situation. Steve somehow managed to roll his eyes before pointedly turning his attention to the instructor.

Bucky watched him trying to focus. It had been entirely worth it, to see Steve’s reaction. Even now, he was still so flustered, Bucky was having a hard time not laughing out loud. It was no more than the punk deserved, sticking him with those Carlyle kids for a whole day without giving him the dope about what they were like. Lucky for him, Bucky was every bit as much a hooligan as the worst of them, and they’d gotten along like gangbusters. 

He knew very well how Steve idolized Wilson Thomas. From the second he learned about it, Bucky would’ve found a way to pay for Stevie to take this class, no matter what he had to do. It was just sheer luck that Mrs. Carlyle had seen him and recommended him to Mr. Thomas as a model for the class. When he’d learned, to his surprise, that it was actually a paying gig (Who ever heard of getting paid to just sit still?) Bucky had immediately offered to forego the fee in exchange for Mr. Thomas letting Steve take the class. With Mrs. Carlyle’s enthusiastic endorsement of the idea, Wilson Thomas had agreed. So Bucky got his revenge for the Carlyle kids, Thomas got to keep his dough, and Steve got the chance of a lifetime. Everybody was a winner.

He was pretty pleased with the way his plan had worked out. He was sure to get a million laughs out of Steve’s priceless reaction. At the same time, he knew his presence here wouldn’t really gum up the works for Steve. He knew his Stevie. He was as stubborn as they come, and could lose himself in his drawing no matter what was going on around him. Bucky wouldn’t have done this if there’d been the slightest chance it would ruin the experience for him. Steve would get over his surprise in short order, and get everything he could out of the class. 

In the meantime, though, he was gonna sit there, facing Steve directly with his equipment all out in the open, and enjoy Steve’s discomfort as he tried to draw. This might just be the best caper he ever pulled.

For the first exercise, Thomas had the class draw Bucky without looking at their papers. Bucky thought that was about the most cockamamie thing he’d ever heard of, but nobody else seemed to share that opinion. In any event, for the twenty minutes while the class was drawing, he tried to catch Steve’s eye so he could make faces at him. He succeeded a couple of times, but mostly Steve just worked with that dogged, obstinate look on his face that told Bucky he wasn’t about to let him win. Just like Bucky had known he would. 

For the next exercise, Bucky stood in what felt like a really dumb position for fifteen minutes while the class was supposed to draw him using some technique or other. It was obvious they knew what Thomas meant for them to do, although it was Greek to Bucky. By now, Steve was still red-faced, but not nearly as perturbed as he’d been in the beginning. 

It was a bit of a gas for Bucky to be standing there in the altogether, in front of a bunch of society broads who would’ve pretended to be shocked to their bones in any other situation. But they were all concentrating just as hard as Steve was on their drawing. Sure, they were looking at him, but what they were seeing was the next line they would put on their papers. 

Unfortunately for Steve, however, he was seeing both. Having seen Bucky almost every day of his life since he could remember, having drawn him as often as he had, Steve didn’t need to learn the lines and angles of his body. He knew them by heart. He knew the dip and swell of the muscles in Bucky’s arms, the breadth of his shoulders and the sweep of his back, so well that looking was more of a luxury than a necessity. And it _was_ a luxury. Always before, he’d had to remember the private parts of Bucky from furtive glances taken while he pretended not to notice. But today, he could fill his eyes with the precise angle of the dip between Bucky’s hip and thigh, the detailed contours of his pubic hair, the exact swell of his buttocks… 

Now that Steve had recovered from the initial shock of finding Bucky here, he was finding it much more difficult to ignore the insistent pulse of sensation swirling through him. He couldn’t ignore Bucky’s body the way he usually did when he was naked for some reason. The way he forced himself to do, even though his every instinct urged him to drink in the sight. It was forbidden, taboo, _wrong_ for him to crave the sight of Bucky the way he did. The way he had for years now. But at this moment, he was _supposed_ to be studying Bucky’s body, thinking about it, analyzing the play of light and shadow on his skin. 

At this angle, with Bucky facing him directly, Steve had a full, unobstructed view of the one part of Bucky with which he was not deeply familiar. He was expected to draw this most intimate part of him, which would not have been a problem with any other model. But right now, when it was Bucky, drawing felt too much like touching, and Steve was suddenly acutely uncomfortable in a way he’d never been before when drawing a nude.

This was a nightmare. It was one thing for Bucky to play a prank – it was actually clever as hell and Steve admired him for it. Not to mention that he kind of deserved it. But this was Steve’s chance to learn from Wilson Thomas, and if he couldn’t get his damn hormones under control, he was going to ruin it for himself. It wouldn’t be Bucky’s fault; he was simply posing, like any other model would do. He wasn’t even trying to distract Steve anymore. Besides which, Bucky had absolutely no idea – would _never_ know – about these sick desires of Steve’s. Whatever happened, it would be Steve’s fault, not Bucky’s. 

Which meant that Steve had a choice to make. He could allow himself to be defeated by his twisted fantasies, and squander this heaven-sent opportunity. Or he could ignore the molten throb in his groin and the way his mind kept trying to imagine the feel of the flesh he was drawing, and focus on the techniques Wilson Thomas was trying to teach. He was under the immediate tutelage of a world-class artist, with a model who was the epitome of male beauty. The opportunity was his to waste or to seize. 

It was really no choice at all.

Steve lifted his chin and rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath and changed his stance. All right. Time to do the best work of his life. He would still be helplessly attracted to his best friend after class. But this was his one chance to learn from Wilson Thomas. Steve looked unflinchingly between Bucky’s legs and allowed his vision to flow through his pencil onto the paper.

Bucky saw something change in Steve. It wasn’t just the position in which he was standing. It was in the way he was looking at him. He was no longer frowning, no longer looked like he was about to challenge Bucky to a fistfight. Instead, he slowly began to take on that air of being not-quite-present he got when he was really focused on his work. 

Bucky liked to watch Steve when he got like this. In part, that was because Steve was entirely unaware that he was being watched, which meant Bucky could look all he wanted. There was a kind of glow in his deep blue eyes, the dreamlike ghost of a smile on his lips, and his big hand with its long fingers seemed almost to dance across the paper. Seeing it now made Bucky realize anew how pretty Steve was. 

Of course, he’d never in his wildest dreams tell him that; Steve would never understand it the way Bucky felt it. He’d see it as another insult based on his too-thin frame and his lack of height. But that wasn’t it. Steve wasn’t the slightest bit girlish. In a way Bucky didn’t understand, that was part of the attraction. He was small, but he was all man. Steve’s prettiness was about the way his hair fell across his brow, the gleam in his eyes, the pink of his full lips. The way all of those things made Bucky feel inside.

Bucky suddenly realized he was staring at Steve just as hard as anyone in the room was staring at him. He also felt exposed for the first time since he’d shucked his robe. Part of that was because the things he was thinking caused a twitch in his cock, which he could absolutely not allow to progress. It suddenly wasn’t so funny to sit facing Steve. 

The new seriousness in Steve’s expression was doing something to Bucky. If he let himself, Bucky could imagine that Steve was looking at him the way he tried very hard not to look at Steve. But that was something he could definitely not think about right now. He needed to focus on something else, quickly. Fortunately for him, it wasn’t very warm in the room – no doubt Mr. Thomas had to pay for what little heat there was in the gallery – and the chill kept Bucky from getting too far into thoughts about the look in Steve’s eyes.

Instead, he tried to concentrate on remembering the entire plot of the Mr. Moto picture they’d seen the weekend before. Something about diamond smuggling in Puerto Rico. That was good for a distraction that lasted until the end of that particular exercise, and then it was time to take a break. 

Bucky pulled on his robe, then spent a few minutes stretching out the kinks from standing still so long. As he did, several of the ladies, and a couple of the men, stepped over to thank him for modeling. It was a little weird, standing talking to fully togged-out society dames while he was wearing nothing but his torn robe, but it was just the kind of absurd situation Bucky found highly entertaining.

He enjoyed the strange moment for a little while, but he soon noticed that Steve wasn’t coming over to talk to him. Instead, he seemed to be messing with the drawing materials in the tray of his easel. Bucky began to wonder if Steve might really be sore at him for horning in on his dream class. The thought solidified into a cold lump in his stomach, and suddenly the moment wasn’t quite so much fun anymore. As soon as he could politely do so, he excused himself and padded over to Steve.

“What’s buzzin’, cousin? You enjoyin’ my surprise?” he chirped, a lot more confidently than he felt.

But Steve just grinned in that half-disgusted way he always did and pushed his bangs out of his eyes, shaking his head. “How’d you ever end up here? You said you had a job today.”

Bucky was surprised at how relieved he was to see that Steve wasn’t angry. “I do. This is it,” he grinned smugly.

“But… why didn’t you tell me?”

“And ruin all the fun of seein’ your face when I showed up here? Nothin’ doin’. There you were, thinkin’ you were gonna get to ogle some girl for two hours, and all you get is me.”

Steve rolled his eyes and knocked Bucky with his shoulder. “I told you, life drawing ain’t about ogling anybody. Now you’ve seen it for yourself. But you’re not wrong about you bein’ a disappointment.”

“Says you. Mrs. Almquist told me I’m a lovely boy.”

“Which one’s Mrs. Almquist? Eyesight that bad, I hope she ain’t drivin’.”

Bucky laughed and threw his arm around Steve’s neck. “Aw, c’mon. Let’s get a cup of that coffee. It ain’t exactly warm sittin’ there in my birthday suit not movin’.”

For Steve, the rest of the class went by very quickly, although it dragged a little for Bucky. He wasn’t used to sitting still for long periods of time with nothing to occupy his mind. For a while, he amused himself by studying the students as they studied him, wondering what their lives were like. But always his attention drifted back to Steve, and the way it felt to have his eyes on Bucky the way they were. And then he’d have to pull his mind away from those thoughts before the whole class could see the evidence of them.

* * *

Steve said a very respectful, slightly reverent goodbye to Mr. Thomas while Bucky put his clothes back on. He was going to have to spend a lot of time going over the sparse comments Mr. Thomas had made about his drawings during the class, preening over the ones he took as praise, and wringing every bit of improvement he could from the constructive criticism. Despite the shock of Bucky showing up as the model, and the resulting difficulty of keeping his mind on the drawing techniques they were using, the class had been all he had hoped for.

As soon as Bucky bustled into the reception area, struggling a little to button his coat with his robe under one arm, he and Steve began the long walk back to their apartment. They would have liked to take the trolley, but it cost a nickel each, and that ten cents could buy a loaf of bread. 

Steve’s first words as they reach the street were, “I still can’t believe you’re our model. How much is he payin’ you?”

For a moment, Bucky didn’t answer. The silence lasted long enough that Steve looked at the man walking next to him and was surprised to see what might be a blush on his cheeks. They hadn’t been outside long enough for that flush to be caused by the cold.

“He ain’t,” Bucky shrugged. “He woulda, but…”

“But what?”

“Well, I—” 

“Bucky, _what?_ ” 

“It’s no big deal. It’s just that you were right. I did recognize the guy’s name when Mrs. Carlyle told me about the job. ‘Cause yeah, you’ve talked a lot about how you like his stuff. I figured you’d sell your Aunt Mildred to take a class like that and, I don’t know, I was feelin’ flush, what with four dollars in my pocket. So I thought, ‘Why not?’ I said he didn’t have to pay me if he’d let you in the class.”

Steve was overwhelmed. All he could say was, “Jeez, Bucky—” in a breathless, awed gasp that embarrassed Bucky even more than having to admit his generosity.

“Yeah. ‘Jeez, Bucky’ is right. Don’t know what I was thinkin’, doin’ you a favor after you made a patsy outta me, settin’ me up to watch those rotten kids.” 

Steve wasn’t fooled for a second by the false nonchalance. He knew by how uncomfortable Bucky was that he was well aware what the favor meant to him. Bucky always had been embarrassed by what he called sappy feelings, and by his own tender nature. 

“That’s the most thoughtful, generous... Buck, _thank you_. And all this time, you let me think it was Mrs. Carlyle—”

“Yeah, yeah. You’d do it for me.” 

“Sure I would, but that ain’t the point. I’m more grateful than I can say. It’s the best thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky stopped him, knocking into Steve with his shoulder hard enough to push him a few steps sideways. “It’s nothin’ more than my civic duty. I owe it to the world to show off all this beefcake, ‘stead of hidin’ my light under a bushel.”

Steve gave the expected snort of derisive laughter, but the joke brought his mind back to thoughts of the way Bucky had looked there in the gallery. Entirely exposed and deliberately posed in ways that caused his muscles to bunch, young and beautiful and wholly male – like the statues and paintings of Greek Olympians, only with a mischievous glint in his eye and the barest hint of a smirk. 

And today was only the first class. Today, seeing Bucky had been a surprise and he’d only just met Wilson Thomas for the first time. Yet even under those circumstances, the forbidden _want_ that lurked in Steve had been difficult to tamp down. How the hell was he going to get through staring at Bucky naked for two hours every week for the next four weeks?

For about the ten millionth time, Steve wished with his whole being that he didn’t have these feelings. It wasn’t just that they were sick. Hell, Steve was sick in so many other ways, in the end it was really just one more. Sure, his other illnesses were just facts, rather than shameful and deviant, but a disease was a disease. The problem was that the way Steve felt about Bucky made him all the more conscious of the differences between them. Bucky could easily joke about being so handsome and attractive, because he’d been told that his whole life. It was simply the way things were. But Bucky’s beauty hit Steve deep inside, in a place that _craved_ Bucky’s desire in return, and it was simply ludicrous to think of that happening. 

Steve was just as aware of his own looks as Bucky was of his. Like Bucky, he’d been told his whole life what people saw when they looked at him. If he had a penny for every time someone called him “runt” or “pipsqueak”, he’d be living in one of those mansions on Fifth Avenue by now. He knew his skin was sallow, he was bony, he gasped for air with only minimal exertion, and he was hopeless at any athletic endeavor. Pretty much the opposite of Bucky. Where girls were drawn to Bucky in droves, the poor best friends and roommates of Bucky’s dates were always disappointed when they got stuck with Steve. 

Even when they were nice – and some of them were – Steve didn’t know how to show them a good time. He could barely talk to them. He wasn’t smooth and clever like Bucky, didn’t know how to charm or sweet-talk a girl the way Bucky seemed to do as easily as breathing. Steve was nervous and serious: nobody’s idea of the perfect date. 

So Steve had no illusions that his attraction to Bucky would ever be anything other than a hidden torture. The best he could ever hope to do was to make damn sure nobody ever knew about it, especially Bucky. The last thing Steve ever wanted to see in Bucky’s eyes was the disappointment tinged with disgust he’d seen in the eyes of too many of those best friends and roommates Bucky’d set him up with.

Bucky rattled on about nothing as they walked, pretty sure he was talking to himself. Steve hadn’t said a word in blocks, even when he’d tossed in the occasional zinger. It wasn’t so surprising, he supposed, given that he’d just met one of his idols and it seemed like there had been a lot of instructing going on during the class, even if Bucky didn’t understand most of it. He was probably just mooning over the whole experience. 

That was okay. In fact, it was the whole point, that Steve should have a swell time. He didn’t get nearly enough of those in his life. It sometimes seemed to Bucky like the world had it in for Steve Rogers, what with growing up sick without a father, and now his Ma dying and all. Steve didn’t seem to mind being poor. Hell, everyone else was, anyway, these days. But he deserved all the breaks Bucky could throw his way. 

Steve was the best guy Bucky’d ever known. Sure, it was annoying to have to bail him out of the scrapes he got into, being such a damn crusader all the time, but there was no question in Bucky’s mind that Steve was genuinely compelled to right wrongs wherever he found them. And even though it seemed like Steve’s whole life was trudging uphill, it never seemed to get him down. He just kept on fighting, never even close to beat, and still laughed and enjoyed life and gave Bucky just as much shit as Bucky gave him.

Bucky realized suddenly that Steve wasn’t the only one who was thinking too deeply to keep up a conversation. He seemed to have gotten wrapped up in his own head and hadn’t said anything in a while, himself. It shook him a little. He became aware that the direction his thoughts had taken was a dangerous one – maybe even more dangerous than the things he’d started to think about when he saw how Steve had been looking at him during the class. 

He shook his head. It was only a couple of months ago that he’d finally admitted to himself that he had thoughts about Steve that weren’t right. Desires and occasional fantasies that he had to brutally quash whenever he found himself having them. He told himself it wasn’t such a big deal; he liked girls plenty, and nobody ever had to know about that hidden, shameful stuff. Least of all Steve.

But as he turned the corner with Steve onto the street where their tenement stood, he had a terrifying thought. The secret stuff, the sex stuff, was bad enough. But what if these other feelings, the softer ones, weren’t right, either? He knew a hundred guys, and a lot of them had best friends. He’d heard plenty of fellas call each other a good guy, or mention something they liked about the other. Certainly lots of guys talked about why they were friends. 

But he’d never heard one of them describe anything quite like the way he felt about Steve. None of them had ever said that their friend’s pain was their pain, that their friend’s happiness was far more important to them than their own, that their best friend was the center of their universe. Did other guys lay tender, tearful kisses on their best friend’s forehead once his fever broke and they knew he was going to survive this bout of pneumonia? 

None of them had ever described their friends as “home” or said that they could live forever in those deep winter nights when they cuddled together under the covers to keep each other warm. None of them mentioned wondering who they were without the other. 

These next four classes were going to be a challenge, sitting stark naked with Steve’s eyes on him for two hours at a time without his betraying his most secret wants. But what if it wasn’t just some degenerate sex thing? That was plenty bad enough, but what if…

Bucky followed Steve up the stairs to their apartment door, purposely needling him about the holes in his shoes to start an argument and prevent himself from finishing that thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could LittleWolf82's art BE more adorable? That smirk on Bucky's face, Steve poking himself with his pencil... *SQUEE!!*
> 
> I hope you're enjoying the story! Comments are like oxygen. Please let me know what you think, or maybe come say hi on Tumblr!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky goes out on a date, while Steve stays home. Too distracted to read, Steve decides to draw. He didn't plan to draw Bucky like _that_ , but once he starts, it becomes a full-body experience. Meanwhile, Bucky's date is going great. So why isn't he having fun?

* * *

“Where’re you takin’ her?”

“Thought we’d go to the Crystal room.”

“Bucky, that place is a dump.”

“Yeah, that’s why I can afford it.” Bucky put down his comb and turned from the mirror toward Steve, holding his hands out to either side. “So? Whaddaya think?”

With a crisp part and his hair shiny and slicked back, Bucky looked like Tyrone Power. Steve was pretty sure he knew it, too. From where he stood, arms crossed, leaning against the bathroom doorframe, he winced. “You look terrible, like you always do. I feel bad for this Shirley.”

“A lot you know, smart guy. Shirley Baxter is one of the hottest tomatoes in Brooklyn, and she told me she’d been hopin’ I’d ask her out. So there.”

“Well, at least you can dance.”

“You bet I can,” Bucky laughed, grabbing Steve around the waist with one arm and taking his hand with the other. He tried to dance Steve around, but Steve wasn’t having any of it. He shoved Bucky away with a laugh, then followed him into the main room of their dingy little apartment, where Bucky’s jacket and tie were hanging on the back of a kitchen chair.

While Bucky tied his tie, Steve flopped down on the couch with a book. He opened it and began to read. When Bucky was ready, he picked up his hat and looked over at Steve. 

“All right, I’ll see you, Stevie. If things go well, I won’t be home until late.”

“Okay, Buck. Have fun. Be good.”

“Not if I can help it,” Bucky leered comically, the same way he always did. They had this same exchange before most of Bucky’s dates. Steve half-grinned, turning back to his book. 

Bucky frowned a little as he closed the door behind him. He wasn’t sure why, just something about leaving Steve home alone on a Friday night bugged him a little. It wasn’t like Steve minded, exactly – he’d be perfectly content to read all evening – but Bucky knew Steve would like to have his own date tonight. Hell, Bucky wanted that for him, too. He often tried to fix Steve up with girls, but it didn’t usually go so well, so even when one of Bucky’s dates had a friend for Steve, Steve said no a lot more than he said yes. 

Bucky snapped the brim of his hat and started the walk to Shirley Baxter’s building. He didn’t know why he was worrying about Steve, who seemed pretty satisfied with his evening plans, when he should be looking forward to his own evening.

Shirley looked terrific. She had on a sleeveless, royal blue dress that was nice and tight in the front, hugging her curves until it flared out in a swingy skirt. The dress showed a lot of her back, which Bucky really liked. Unlike some dolls, who liked to leave a guy cooling his heels in a front room while they did whatever they did to finish getting ready, Shirley was already waiting when he arrived. Bucky was glad, because all three of her roommates were sitting in the living room, giving him the once-over. He appreciated not having to sit there with them while he waited for Shirley. She handed him her satin wrap, which he draped over her shoulders, giving them a squeeze as he did.

“You look real nice, Shirley. You get that dolled up just for me?”

She smiled, showing off the dimples he liked, did a practiced flip of her dark curls with a hand, and giggled a little. “You and everybody else at the club, sure.”

Bucky played along, pretending to be disappointed, as he ushered her out of her apartment, putting a hand on her lower back as they walked down the hall of her apartment building to the stairs. He could smell her perfume, which was maybe a little strong, but he figured she only just put it on. It would probably wear off some. 

Bucky sprung for a cab, since he couldn’t very well ask his date to walk all the way to the nightclub. On the way, he kept Shirley giggling with lines, in between asking her questions about herself. They didn’t really know each other; they’d just danced together a number of times at different clubs and dance halls. This was easy stuff for Bucky. In his experience, girls loved to talk about themselves, especially the pretty ones. It wasn’t difficult to keep them laughing, either, and they seemed to like him fine as long as he was generous with the compliments he sprinkled in. But he was actually a little glad when they reached the Crystal Room and the music would be too loud to really talk much. There was nothing at all wrong with Shirley or the conversation, it just seemed a little dumb to him tonight for some reason. 

Maybe he’d feel better once he got a drink in him. It wasn’t the first time a date had started off slow.

*  *  *

Steve had been excited when a neighbor who was leaving the city for a job out West had given him a tattered copy of  The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes . Tonight, however, he kept finding his mind drifting from the story. Since that first art class, he’d thought quite a bit about the things Wilson Thomas had said regarding his drawing. He’d practiced a couple times, just quick sketches to try to incorporate the suggestions Thomas had made. He’d also looked through some of his sketchbooks, with an eye to the things the artist had mentioned. What he hadn’t done is any serious drawing. He decided that, since he couldn’t concentrate on his book, he would draw, instead.

He tossed the book on the overturned wooden crate that served as a coffee table in front of the sofa, and went to the bookshelf where he kept his current sketchbook. Tilting the shade of the reading lamp so that the full light would fall on the page, he settled back onto the cushions in his usual drawing position and began to sketch.

He didn’t consciously decide to draw Bucky. It was as if the pencil had made the decision itself. But it was early in the process of creating the drawing that Steve had the idea to draw him nude. He told himself that he was practicing things he’d learned in class, and since Bucky had been the model, it just made sense. Besides, without a model there in the apartment, it would be easiest to draw the figure he knew best. 

But that didn’t explain Bucky’s pose in the drawing. He’d certainly never stood like that in class. Steve quickly felt arousal bloom as he sketched the rough outlines of the picture, realizing almost immediately that it would be a drawing no one could ever see. He’d have to burn it when it was done. Because he was drawing a scene he’d imagined a few times when he allowed himself to: Bucky was leaning insolently against the brick wall of a warehouse down on the docks with the sun shining on him, warming his skin, one hand splayed against the bricks and the other wrapped loosely around his cock. He wasn’t fully hard yet, and in no apparent hurry. The scene was more about Bucky putting on a show and enjoying the watcher’s reaction than the pleasure he was giving himself. 

By the time he had roughed out the composition of the picture, Steve was hard and squirming a bit. He kept going, though. The more he drew, the more aroused he got, especially as the fantasy of the drawing became entwined in his mind with the memory of Bucky posing just a few feet in front of him in class, facing him directly in order to purposely make him uncomfortable. He’d succeeded brilliantly, just not in the way he’d intended. Sure, Bucky hadn’t had an erection during the class, but Steve’s imagination was fully capable of supplying that image. 

For over an hour, Steve drew and fantasized what might have happened before and after the moment he was drawing, there on the docks with Bucky naked in the sunshine. He didn’t even try to stop himself. He’d been fighting these thoughts about Bucky for so long, and nearly constantly since the class, that he just needed the relief of giving in to them for a while. Besides, Bucky was at this very moment out with a girl, and certainly wouldn’t be thinking about him. No doubt he’d be getting his own thrills tonight. Nobody would know if Steve did, too, or ever guess what he was drawing that gave him those thrills. 

He pictured Bucky letting him go to his knees in front of him as he stood in the warm sun, leaning against that brick wall. Imagined as best he could what it would feel like to have Bucky’s dick in his mouth, to use his tongue in all sorts of ways to see what he would taste like and what sounds he could get Bucky to make. Imagined Bucky’s hands in his hair and his voice, wrecked, groaning Steve’s name. Imagined Bucky fucking his mouth as he came, not holding back his cries.

By the time Steve had driven himself so close to the edge that he was achy and leaking, the drawing was as complete as it was going to get. He tore the page from his sketchbook and stumbled quickly into the tiny bathroom, where he tore the buttons of his pants open and let them fall to his ankles, grabbing his cock firmly in his hand and holding the drawing in the other. He fisted himself immediately, too desperate for release to take the time to dip a fingerful of Vaseline like he usually did, stroking furiously as he looked at the drawing, letting his fantasies run wild while he finished himself off with a tortured groan.

And then he tore the drawing in tiny pieces and flushed them carefully down the toilet.

*  *  *

Bucky had a nice head of steam going. He’d had maybe one drink more than usual, so he was a little tight, and Shirley was game for all the dancing he wanted to do. There was sweat around his hairline and his tie was loose. He was having a pretty good time, he told himself. Shirley was, too. She was all smiles and laughs, and she was cuddling up nice and tight when the band played slow stuff. She even let him kiss her once. 

He just wished he was a little more excited about things. It was all so automatic – the things he said, the moves he put on Shirley – and her reactions were perfectly sweet, but so very predictable. Bucky had the strange thought that it wouldn’t be so easy with someone like Steve. Steve would make him work for it, wouldn’t fall for every corny line. In fact, he’d make fun of Bucky for them, and they’d laugh together, smiling into each other’s eyes. What a screwy thought, taking Steve out on a date. But for some reason, once he had the idea, Bucky kept coming back to it. He liked the way it made him feel, the thought of trying to make Steve smile, working for a kiss, maybe getting lucky at the end of the night—

Lucky for him, Shirley broke him out of that train of thought.

“What’s doin’, Bucky? You’re a million miles away.” 

The band was taking a break, and Shirley was just returning from re-applying her lipstick while he got them fresh drinks. Her cheeks were flushed from dancing and the warmth of the crowded club, and her eyes were sparkling in her pretty face. He really liked the way she’d rolled her almost-black hair back away from her face, and the tight pincurls in the back. She seemed to like him well enough, too, considering the way she was leaning into him. 

“Just thinkin’ about what a keen dancer you are is all. All the fellas are crazy jealous of me tonight.”

It was the right thing to say, and Shirley moved a little closer. “You know what I think? I think you’re a terrible flirt. I better watch myself with you.” 

“Nah,” Bucky grinned lazily, taking her hand and kissing it. “I’m watchin’ you plenty for both of us.”

It went on like that. Bucky was succeeding brilliantly with Shirley, and she really was quite the dish. He was sure she’d be up for a little cuddling once they left the club, from all the signals she was giving him. He actually found himself sighing as he scanned the room, looking at all the couples. Most of them seemed to be having the time of their lives. He felt bad for Shirley, although he hoped he wasn’t being obvious about the fact that he felt this inexplicable dissatisfaction tonight. He hoped the band would hurry back. He’d rather be dancing than sitting knee-to-knee with Shirley at this little table. He wondered what Steve was doing. 

The break seemed to be taking forever, but it gave Bucky an idea. He figured most of the band was in the alley behind the club, smoking, and that sounded pretty good to him, too. He tried very hard to think it was just the idea of a cigarette, and not the chance to spend a little time away from his perfectly lovely date. That made absolutely no sense. Still, he felt a weight drop from his shoulders as Shirley gamely got up to talk to some friends at another table while he smoked.

The band eventually returned. It wasn’t a great band – in this joint, it wouldn’t be – but they played all the popular songs and that’s all Bucky and Shirley needed. At least when they were dancing, Bucky was fully engaged in what he was doing. Or, almost.

A couple of hours of dancing later, it was time for the nightclub to close. A big, noisy, largely drunken, mob made its way toward the trolley together. It was always like that at closing time. The trolley company ran special late-night routes on the weekends for all the folks out dancing. The crowded, exhausted ride was just another part of the night’s festivities. Bucky was glad it was, because he’d just about burned through all his money. He couldn’t have afforded another taxi. There were, of course, no seats on the trolley, but Shirley seemed perfectly happy to hang onto Bucky’s waist while they stood. 

She smiled up at him a little dizzily, and when he met her eyes, she took the opportunity to stand on her tiptoes and kiss him, since there were too many people crowded too close together to really see her do it. By the time they got to Shirley’s stop, she’d done it a couple more times, and Bucky had snuck a few kisses, too. He wondered what was going to happen when they got to her apartment building.

What happened was, she tipsily invited him in. “It’s okay, my roommates and I have an agreement. It’s my night to have the sitting room. We can go in there and shut the door, and no one will bother us.”

Bucky smiled crookedly and suppressed a shrug, not wanting Shirley to know that he’d really rather go home to bed. It wasn’t her fault he was feeling so off tonight; she was cute as a bug and she was doing everything right. So he followed her up the stairs to her third-floor apartment. It was nicer than his and Steve’s, but he figured that was because there were four girls living there, sharing the rent. Shirley unlocked the door and put a finger to her lips, telling him to be quiet as they tiptoed into the darkened front room.

The sitting room was a tiny parlor of sorts to one side of the main room. There was just room for a tiny, two-person loveseat with a high back, and a couple of leggy tables. Another straight-backed wooden chair faced the loveseat, and that was the extent of the furniture in the room. Bucky was sure the loveseat had to be a hand-me-down from one of the girls’ families, because the maroon flowered upholstery was a little worn and the wood was scarred. It wasn’t that easy to see, however, because Shirley only lit one small lamp on one of the tables before taking Bucky’s hat and tossing it onto the straight-backed chair, then pulling him down next to her on the loveseat. 

She didn’t bother to be coy as she smiled at him and leaned in, keeping hold of his hand. Bucky obliged her by putting an arm around her and pulling her close. She tasted like gin when he kissed her, which he was sure he did, too. She was a good kisser, he’d say that for her. Enthusiastic, too. Pretty soon they were leaning against the high, padded back of the loveseat, and he felt like maybe he was a little drunker than he realized, because he slowly found himself leaning more and more over Shirley. 

It was nice, being here in this dimly-lit room with a fun girl who was clearly up for making a little whoopee. Bucky was breathing a little hard now, and his dick was getting more interested in things. It was when he realized that Shirley was leaning against the armrest and shifting her body so he was as close to lying on her as they could get on the little sofa that he understood he’d just been following the subtle but steady pressure of her arms as she pulled him over her. He wondered how far she would let him go. Wondered how far he  _ wanted _ to go.

Bucky could just imagine what his friends would say if they heard him think that. He was well aware that he was supposed to want whatever Shirley’d give him, and he did. Kind of. He had his hands on her breasts now, and she seemed to like it. She was moving against his hands, and squirming a little underneath him, enthusiastically using her tongue to give as good as she got. 

She pulled away from him a little, to say, “You know, Bucky, if you wanted to unzip my dress, that’d be okay by me.”

Reflexively, Bucky grinned wolfishly and answered, “You don’t have to ask me twice.” 

Shirley’s breasts were firm and round when he bared them, nipples hard and apparently sensitive, if the sounds she was making were any indication. Bucky paid them plenty of attention, but didn’t make any move to get Shirley’s dress the rest of the way off. He wanted to, because he was hard by then and needed to do something about that, but Shirley wasn’t giving him any indication that she wanted him to undress her any further. Bucky was grinding against one of her legs, so she was well aware of the state he was in, but she’d been pretty much in control so far and he figured if she wanted him to go further, she’d let him know. 

“Bucky, we should— I should—” Shirley moved to sit up, so Bucky did, too, and they untangled themselves. She straightened her dress out a little, putting her arms back through the straps. “I like you, Bucky, but I don’t—” 

“No, ‘course. I understand. I’ll just go.”

“No, it’s okay, I didn’t mean you had to leave,” Shirley said, smiling a little and sliding a hand up the inside of Bucky’s thigh to his crotch, where she palmed him and began to rub slowly. “If you want, I could, you know…”

“Oh. I— Why, sure, I’d like that, but you don’t have to—”

She was already working on his belt. Bucky slid his hips forward, leaning back and watching Shirley’s little hand work his zipper. Her hands were really small, unlike Steve’s, which were pretty large considering he wasn’t a big guy. When Shirley got his cock freed from his slacks and boxers and began to stroke him, Bucky laid his head back against the sofa and moaned softly. It wasn’t like when he did it; her hand was small and her strokes a little jerky, her grip a little too tight. But it was still what he needed.

Bucky wondered what it would feel like if Steve were to do this to him with those big hands and long fingers. He was a guy, which meant he’d have all kinds of experience doing this to himself – and wasn’t that a thought, Steve pleasuring himself. Bucky moaned a little louder and felt a shudder go through his body.

“Good, honey?” Shirley asked, surprising Bucky a little that it wasn’t Steve’s voice. He grunted appreciatively, keeping his eyes closed and slipping back into the thought of Steve’s hand on him, Steve’s fingers he was rocking his hips into, Steve’s slim hip his hand was clutching.

The hand was wrong, and the rhythm was off, but it was friction and Bucky let himself fall into the picture of Steve, all angles and that pale skin, lying naked on his bed with his hand wrapped around his cock, hips rolling obscenely the way Bucky’s were now… Bucky was suddenly coming, waves of hard pleasure racing through him, spurting into Shirley’s hand and onto his stomach, shuddering with the almost painfully intense release. He was used to keeping quiet when he got himself off, so he kept the shout inside even though he’d completely lost touch with where he actually was, and whose hand it was continuing to pump his now-oversensitive cock so that he had to push it away. 

When he opened his eyes, he saw Shirley beaming at him, eyes shining, and it was all he could do not to jump up from the loveseat in his confusion and sudden mortification. Had he actually said Steve’s name? He didn’t think so, or she wouldn’t be looking at him like that. All the same, Bucky felt like his thoughts were blindingly obvious. He pulled his handkerchief out and hastily cleaned off Shirley’s hand, then himself, grateful as hell for the excuse not to have to look at the girl who’d just given him a handy while he fantasized about his best friend, naked and jerking off.

What the hell. 

Bucky was especially kind and complimentary to Shirley as they got their clothes back on straight and said good night. He was immensely relieved when Shirley finally closed her apartment door and he could fly down the stairs to the street. The cool night air felt wonderful, and the several-block walk helped Bucky to clear his head a little. 

He’d never let himself think about Steve when he touched himself. He figured it would just make things worse, and if tonight was any indication, he was damn right. Lying there with Shirley fisting his cock, pretending that it was Steve’s hand, imagining what Steve would look like jerking himself off… Bucky couldn’t remember ever coming that hard, and Shirley hadn’t even been particularly good at what she was doing. He felt bad about using her like that; she probably thought— Well, whatever it was, he’d let her think it. It was entire universes better than the truth.

He renewed his promise to himself to keep from thinking those thoughts about Steve. They were best friends, and that was plenty. It was great, in fact. The best thing in Bucky’s life. There were plenty of girls like Shirley, he’d fall in love with one sooner or later. Why want something he couldn’t have, that would ruin their friendship – not to mention his life – if he ever let anyone know? 

Bucky was glad to see that the lights were all off when he got home. Steve was asleep, face turned away from Bucky’s bed toward the wall, and without thinking about it, Bucky pulled the quilt up over Steve’s shoulder where it had slid off. He hung up his clothes quickly and threw himself on his narrow bed across from Steve’s, falling almost immediately into a half-drunk sleep.

Steve waited until he heard Bucky start to snore before rolling onto his back and looking over toward him. He wondered if Bucky had made time with Shirley Baxter. He knew Bucky would tell him if he asked, because he did sometimes. But he wouldn’t volunteer any information, and he’d be vague even if Steve asked. 

Steve decided not to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you're enjoying this. Comments are like oxygen, y'all, please let me know what you think! Or come say hi on Tumblr.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited day finally comes - Steve and Bucky go to the World's Fair. There's no one either of them would rather share it with, and the day is even better than they expected. It's so perfect, in fact, that it leaves them both feeling, well... feelings.

* * *

It had taken Steve and Bucky almost a whole year to save up the money for their day at the World’s Fair in Flushing Meadows, Queens. The tickets alone cost seventy-five cents, but for a dollar, you could get tickets which also included five concessions. Although the price was steep, neither of them was willing to miss the experience of a lifetime. 

The thing was, the fair was massive and, at that exorbitant price, they could only hope to go for one day. So they had to be very strategic. The tickets came with a newsprint map of the fair, with a list of the exhibits and a description of the transportation within the grounds. For weeks, they’d lain on their stomachs on the floor of their apartment, the map in front of them, plotting and arguing about what to see and in what order, so that they could maximize their experience. They spent hour after enjoyable hour planning, arguing and strategizing – far longer than they would actually be at the fair. 

The fair was massive, divided into seven zones, most of which were arranged in a semicircular pattern centered on the landmark buildings of the fair: the 700-foot obelisk-like Trylon and the spherical Perisphere. There was ample transportation within the fairgrounds, but Steve and Bucky quickly decided that the tractor trains and the motor- and hand-operated chairs were ridiculously expensive. They cost anywhere from twenty-five to seventy-five cents for the first fifteen minutes, which was simply unthinkable. Besides, Steve and Bucky had always relied primarily on shoe leather, and that would work for them at the Fair, too. There were Greyhound buses, at ten cents a ride, which they kept as a reserve option, in case taking a bus to save time became necessary to accomplish all they wanted to in their day. As it turned out, however, between Steve’s strategic mind and Bucky’s undimmable enthusiasm, they figured out how to do it without spending precious cash on transportation.

Saving money on food was easy, too. There was no reason to buy any of the overpriced food available, because there was an abundance of free samples at the pavilions in the Food Zone. They’d just have to build a trip to that zone into their itinerary. Besides, temporary hunger wasn’t exactly a new phenomenon for them.

As for which exhibits to see, some were simply not up for debate. There was no reason to even discuss the Democracity exhibit inside the iconic globe-like Perisphere or "Elektro the Moto-Man," the 7-foot tall working robot. The railroad exhibit? Also sacred. Nor did they even consider missing Billy Rose's Aquacade, a red-brick amphitheatre where they could sit in wooden seats above a pool where scantily clad swimmers performed pinwheels and other formations. 

But Steve and Bucky argued vehemently for weeks about the General Motors exhibit called "Futurama." The exhibit was nearly thirty-six thousand square feet, where visitors rode moving wooden couches, separated into two-seater cars that moved along a beltway, rising and falling as they took the visitor on a fifteen-minute panoramic “flight” around the edges of the countryside and city of the future – 1960. 

Steve argued that the exhibit was too similar to Democracity to make it worthwhile to do both. Bucky, on the other hand, waved an article from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle which reported that Futurama was on a much grander scale. 

“Come on, Steve, Democracity is only six minutes. Futurama is fifteen! And they’re completely different! Besides, we’re gonna be at the General Motors exhibit anyway, seein’ all the cars and stuff. It’d be a shame to miss what everybody says is the best thing at the fair when we’re right there.”

“Then we should cross off Democracity.”

“And miss the heart of the fair? You’re just sayin’ that to be contrary.”

In the end, Bucky had prevailed, mostly because Steve really wanted to see Futurama, too. Anyway, they both knew that if Bucky really wanted it, Steve would’ve agreed for that reason alone. Just like Bucky had agreed to the art pavilion. 

They had to make some tough decisions about some of the other exhibits, too, but after endless evenings spent with their map and a hundred arguments at other times – over meals or while they were walking somewhere – they finally settled on a plan. 

When the great day finally dawned, three days after Bucky’s date with Shirley Baxter, they arose before the spring sun and ate a much heartier breakfast than usual so that they wouldn’t get hungry before they planned to reach the Food Zone and could take advantage of the free samples. Then Bucky put on his suit and Steve his best shirt and tie, and they set off to catch the train to Queens. 

On the way, Steve babbled excitedly about everything they were going to see, while Bucky listened fondly, occasionally making some sarcastic or insulting comment just to see Steve react. From nowhere came the thought of his cab ride with Shirley to the Crystal Room a few nights before, and how little enthusiasm he’d been able to feel. Sure, that was just a dancing date, nothing he hadn’t done a hundred times before, and he and Steve were on their way to a once-in-a-lifetime experience. But he couldn’t help noticing how different it was to be sitting on this commuter train next to Steve. He looked past him, out the window at the tenements passing by, and tried to imagine taking Shirley, or any of the other girls he knew, to the fair. 

He couldn’t. In fact, he couldn’t imagine sharing this with anyone other than Steve. He couldn’t imagine even wanting to.

He would have liked to let Steve know that somehow, but he couldn’t think of any way to say it that wouldn’t sound way too syrupy. He flashed briefly to his thoughts as Shirley had been giving him a hand job at the end of their date, and shook his head to clear it. 

As they passed through it mere moments after the fair had opened for the day, the Corona gate seemed almost to be an Art Deco portal to another world. They appeared to have entered a shining city whose centerpiece – the blindingly white Trylon and Perisphere – were as much sculpture as they were buildings. The narrow, triangular pyramid and massive sphere had a futuristic simplicity that drew the eye and, since they were visible from everywhere within the fair, seemed to reinforce the forward-looking nature of everything the visitors saw.

Between the architecturally daring buildings and the many elevated walkways, fountains and other outdoor wonders, the fair seemed to be in another universe from the one where Steve and Bucky worried daily about the ominous events in Europe and Japan while they struggled to pay rent on a dingy, one-bedroom flat. They’d purposely chosen to come on a weekday in hopes the crowds would be lighter, but there were still so many people everywhere that they ended up waiting in line for forty-five minutes on the elevated platform, the “Helicline,” that led to the entrance to the Perisphere. The sphere itself was eight stories tall and two hundred feet in diameter, so the Helicline was fifty feet above the main level of the fairgrounds. It gave Steve and Bucky a breathtaking view of the grounds and the throngs of people everywhere. 

Inside, Democracity was a huge diorama of a model future city laid out across the lower part of the sphere. They looked down on it from one of the two revolving walkways suspended in rings over the scene while loudspeakers at the apex of the dome above them played the recorded description of what they were seeing. Bucky found the narration a little hokey, but Steve thought it was inspirational.

“You’re the one who’s always so gung-ho about the future, Buck. Talkin’ about how much better it’s gonna be.”

“Yeah, but I don’t sound like I’m tryin’ to sell somethin’ while I do it,” Bucky laughed, knocking his shoulder against Steve’s. “C’mon, Elektro’s next!"

Steve was just as excited to see him, so they picked up the pace and skirted around slower-moving groups. They had a lot to see and only one day to fit it all in. 

At the Hall of Electrical Living in the Westinghouse Building, they stood in a crowd six people deep to gaze up at a little stage where a glib man wearing a microphone and holding what looked like a telephone demonstrated “Elektro the Moto-Man,” a shiny, gold mechanical man made out of metal with a window in his chest that let visitors see his inner workings. Elektro talked with the presenter, walked, counted, and even smoked a cigarette.

Bucky was enthralled. He enjoyed Elektro so much he wanted to see the demonstration a second time, and was surprised at how quickly Steve agreed, given their tight timetable. Steve said that he was just going to go outside and sit on one of the benches, where Bucky could come find him afterward. Bucky enjoyed the show just as much the second time, gobsmacked as he was by the idea of a fully mechanical man operating independently of any wires or anything, being controlled merely by the commands being spoken into the telephone-like device. He could only imagine what such robots could accomplish. Besides which, the show was entertaining.

Stepping out into the bright sunshine afterward, Bucky spotted Steve quickly, although he almost doubted his eyes for a moment. He was leaning against a cement planter full of some brightly-colored flowers, eating what looked like a hamburger. 

“Hey, where’d you get that?” Bucky asked, a little confused as Steve handed him one, too, and pointed to two open bottles of soda pop sitting next to him on the edge of the planter. 

“There’s stands all over the place,” Steve shrugged with what appeared to be genuine nonchalance.

“But, where’d you get the dough? I thought—”

Steve smirked. “You don’t know everything, even though you think you do.”

“But—”

“If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it. They’re good.”

Bucky shook his head, frowning a little as he wondered what Steve was up to. Which apparently annoyed Steve.

“Jeez, Buck, you could just be grateful, ‘stead of makin’ a fuss. So I saved up a little more than you. I don’t spend all my money on girls.”

If anyone else had said that to him, Bucky would’ve teased him about not having the opportunity. But that wasn’t something he’d ever say to Steve. 

“Well, I sure appreciate it, pal. You didn’t hafta.”

“I know,” Steve said simply. 

They talked about everything they’d seen so far as they ate, and then drank their sodas as they made their way quickly to the Railroad exhibit, where one of the live shows was starting soon. 

By mid-afternoon, they’d made it to the General Motors Highways and Horizons building. They both loved the big white locomotive that seemed to be crashing its way out of the building near the entrance. The train engine had clear panels in its sides so that they could look inside and see the massive, shiny diesel motors running. Inside the building was a car whose entire body was made of transparent plastic, which let you see all the inner workings, including inside the doors. That was interesting for a while, but Bucky was the one who cared about cars, not Steve. Steve soon found himself just following patiently as Bucky stared, big-eyed, at everything. He exclaimed over the brand-new Oldsmobile turning slowly like it was on a roasting spit, which let people see the undercarriage as well as the top. Steve had no idea what all the blivets and whatnot underneath were, but it was fun to see Bucky so excited. 

Because he was so intrigued by everything he saw, Bucky didn’t notice that Steve spent more time looking at him than the displays. Steve wasn’t really interested in steering mechanisms, “knee-action” suspension, or the engine with transparent panels that let people see the spark plugs lighting the gas/air mixture in the combustion chambers. He was interested in the glee in Bucky’s running commentary about all the keen stuff on display, the fascination in his beautiful blue-grey eyes, and the way one fat lock of hair kept falling over his left eye. 

Bucky really was insanely handsome. Steve saw many of the girls in the crowd notice him, and felt a strange pride in the fact that Bucky didn’t seem to notice them back, but was pulling Steve along from display to display, making his comments to Steve and no one else. He didn’t fight it too hard, because today was just too special to be unhappy about anything. Girls would still be looking at Bucky tomorrow; he’d worry about it then.

The Futurama exhibit was entered from a spiral walkway outside the Highways and Horizons building. By the time they took their places in the long line, both Steve and Bucky were fighting sensory overload. It was actually kind of nice to have some time to stand together, just relaxing and enjoying the view over the fairgrounds as they climbed slowly toward the entrance to the exhibit. 

“We’re about to enter the world of 1960, Buck. It seems so far away, but it’s really just twenty years in the future. What do you suppose we’ll be doing in 1960?”

“Who knows? Maybe we’ll learn when we get inside, huh?”

They spent a quiet moment, just looking around at the crowd and the weird and fascinating buildings all around them. The bright white Trylon and Perisphere in the distance seemed to glow a little in the afternoon sun.

“Just think,” Steve mused. “We’ll be over forty.”

Bucky chuckled a little at the idea of being so old. “Yeah, and you’ll be the most henpecked husband there’s ever been, with a passel of little Steves who drive you nuts, just like you drive me.”

“You’ll still be single and livin’ in our same apartment, even though you got a good job, ‘cause you can’t stop buyin’ fancy clothes and taking every girl out dancing.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me!”

There was another comfortable silence before Bucky looked at Steve with a grin. “Whatever else we’re doin’, I bet we’ll still be pals, unless I get some better sense by then.”

“You never developed any sense yet, I don’t see why that would change now. So I suppose you’re right, even though you’ll still be a lunkhead.”

Bucky threw an arm around Steve’s neck in that rough way he had, like he didn’t want it to seem too much like a hug. Steve always liked it when he did that. Everybody else seemed to think he’d break if they looked at him too hard, but Bucky never treated him like he was weak or fragile. They laughed together and spent the rest of the wait pointing things and people out to each other from the height of the walkway.

It was very dark once they entered the Futurama exhibit itself. Partly that was the result of coming inside from the sunny afternoon, and partly because it was actually dark in the exhibit. Attendants pointed Steve and Bucky toward what looked like an endless row of tall, polished wood chairs against a wall of a sort of narrow hallway. The chairs were double seats, with panels between each set of two to give a sense of privacy. As they took their seats, grateful for the opportunity to sit down for a while, they realized at the same time that the seats were moving.

Soon, a voice began to come from speakers within the chairs, and the line of seats moved enough that they were able to get their first glimpse of what appeared to be a long vista of countryside seen from a height. It was as though they were flying over the land as the voice explained all the advancements that had been made in farming and land use in the world of 1960. 

The artist in Steve couldn’t help but be aghast at the vast scope and realism of the diorama below. He couldn’t imagine the time and work it must have taken to fashion all those trees, mountains, farm buildings, and everything else they seemed to be gliding over. Bucky was just as fascinated, even though his interest was more in the science being discussed. They leaned in toward one another as they pointed and exclaimed in hushed voices to each other. Neither one noticed when Bucky put his arm around Steve’s narrow shoulders and Steve rested a hand on Bucky’s thigh, leaning on it as he craned forward to see all the wonders of the exhibit as they passed.

The “flight” slowly reached an urban area, complete with complex, well-engineered road systems and skyscrapers. The City of Tomorrow was apparently going to be meticulously planned, with no slums or ugly industrial sections. Steve mentioned that to Bucky and they both gave somewhat skeptical laughs at that, although they immediately went back to admiring the scene. The undulating shapes of the skyscrapers seemed somehow to suggest a cleaner, gentler, more peaceful existence, as did the walkways elevated above the streets of the City where traffic flowed unimpeded. 

The ride circled the massive display, with the lights brightening and then dimming to represent the passage of a full day from sunrise to sunset as they made the rotation. Neither Steve nor Bucky was ready for the ride to end. When the chairs stopped moving, both felt as though it had just begun. Still, they politely stood and followed the rest of the crowd out the doors, only to be shocked when they found themselves actually standing in the City of Tomorrow they’d just seen from above. An attendant handed them both small metal pins that announced, “I have seen the future.”

There was a great deal to see and discuss about the Futurama exhibit. Still, they had a schedule to keep, so Steve and Bucky soon took out their map and headed toward their next destination, talking animatedly on the way.

The Russian pavilion was U-shaped, with an amphitheater in the rounded center where informational films were shown. The rounded section ended in a square wing on each side in which there were statues and murals. In the middle courtyard formed by the semicircle was an extremely tall, blood-red granite tower topped with a statue of a muscular worker in coveralls, holding a star aloft. It was extremely impressive, if a bit unsettling given the current behavior of Russia toward its neighbors, and its unsettlingly close relationship with Hitler’s Germany.

“You suppose that oughtta be here in America?” Bucky asked quietly, squinting up at it.

“I guess we’re tryin’ to play nice with Stalin maybe.” Steve looked over at Bucky. “Anyway, I’m not gonna worry about Russia today. We said we wanted to see this, but we can skip it if you want. You already suffered through the ‘Masterpieces of Art’ building. I don’t expect—”

“Hey, nothin’ doin’! Old Joe doesn’t scare me. Anyway, we had a deal, and you put up with the Ford and Stark exhibits for me. If you wanna see some Russian art, then we’re gonna see some.” 

Steve couldn’t help but smile at Bucky’s bravado, and the warmth he felt hearing his words. He especially liked Bucky’s hand on his shoulder as they resumed walking toward the building.

They were shocked to discover, after their tour of the exhibits in the Russian Pavilion, that it was almost dark outside already. 

“So, what’s next?” Bucky asked, and Steve knew him well enough to see that he was trying to act a bit more energetic than he felt. Not surprising, since they’d been running all day, trying to see everything they wanted to see, even though they’d had to rush through much of it to fit it all in. 

“I was thinkin’ about that,” Steve answered, pulling the map from a pocket of his jacket. “And I have an idea. I didn’t tell you about it before because I wanted it to be a surprise, but I think you’re gonna like it, ‘cause you look beat.”

“I ain’t beat. I can handle anything you can. You sayin’ you’re beat?”

“No, but you eat more than me, and those hamburgers were a long time ago. I wanna take one of those guide chairs over toward where the fountain show’s gonna be. It’ll get us there fast and then we’ll have time to eat dinner.”

“Steve, we—”

“I know what you’re gonna say, Buck, and just don’t. I told you, I saved more than you. This is what I wanna do, and it’s my money to spend. So just shut up about it.”

“I don’t know, pal, I feel kinda funny—”

“Well, you look kinda funny, too, so that’s all right then. Let’s go.”

And they did, because Bucky knew there was no arguing with Steve when he got that tone in his voice. He also knew that Steve was enjoying the hell out of surprising him with this treat. Bucky was truly a little uncomfortable about letting Steve spend his hard-earned money on such luxuries for him, but he couldn’t say no because the glint in Steve’s eyes and the grin that he couldn’t quite hide told him that he’d been looking forward to springing this on him. And he was actually pretty hungry.

It wasn’t hard to find one of the stands where they could hire one of the little yellow motorized carts. They were roughly the shape of a lima bean and driven by a uniformed guide who sat in the back, with a large, open seat in front where the guests rode. Bucky knew the ride cost seventy-five cents for the first fifteen minutes, which seemed like a small fortune to spend just for a ride across the park, but it was actually a gas to go whizzing down the walkway past all the people while the guide pointed out points of interest and told them interesting facts about things they saw.

The fair was entirely transformed by night. Where the Trylon and Perisphere were bright white during the day, pastel flood lights made them glow warmly by night. Similarly, most of the buildings had some lighting to make them more interesting in the dark. There were torches, brightly-colored bars of light, and a multitude of other different ways of catching fairgoers’ attention that, collectively, created a kaleidoscope of design that changed constantly as the motor chair carrying Steve and Bucky traveled. 

As they’d been doing all day, the two pointed things out to one another, and lapsed into frequent silences during which they simply took in the sights around them. Both were completely overwhelmed by this time, but the deep familiarity of each other’s presence provided a comfortable resting place for their eyes and minds, a touchstone in this pleasant, but nonetheless alien, landscape. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, they found themselves leaning into one another, thighs pressed together even though there was plenty of room on the seat, particularly since Steve was so slender.

Steve wished Bucky would put his arm around him again, as he had on the chair car in the Futurama exhibit. Here, though, there was no need to try to keep their voices down so as not to disturb those around them. They were outside in a crowd and could speak as loudly as they wanted to. Steve couldn’t know that Bucky was craving more contact, too. Steve’s hand was resting on his leg, close enough that Bucky would hardly have had to move to take it in his own. Bucky forgot to squelch the thought as instantly as he would normally have done. Tired and hungry as he was, he also couldn’t stop the thought that he wanted to kiss Steve more at this moment than he’d wanted to kiss Shirley Baxter during their entire date. Including in the sitting room of her apartment.

Soon enough, they reached the area where the closing show would take place and left the guide car. Bucky looked politely away as Steve paid the guide and, in doing so, took the opportunity to scan for food options. He wanted to keep it cheap and searched for a hot dog stand or something, but Steve pointed out one of the Child’s restaurants in the park, where they could actually sit down and be served. It was still just a forty-three cent plate lunch, but as hungry as they were, and as infrequently as they could afford to eat out, it seemed like fine dining. 

Between bites, they happily shared their impressions of many of the sights they’d seen. They had plenty to say, and it was clear that they’d both thoroughly enjoyed the day, even though they disagreed nearly as often as they agreed about the exhibits. Steve, for example, thought the new “television” in the RCA pavilion was a silly gimmick, where Bucky liked the idea of seeing pictures to go along with the sounds of programs.

“Why do we need a picture of the news? What would that even be, anyway? Some fella sitting reading a piece of paper? I don’t need to see that.”

“Well, okay, the news might not need pictures, but what about shows? What if you could see the stuff happenin’ to Amos n’ Andy, or The Shadow?”

“We already got the movies, Buck, and they’re nice and big. Why would we want to see it small? I don’t see what television’s for, when we got radio and the pictures.”

“Well, if the guy talkin’ about it was right, it’d be like havin’ the pictures right in your house.”

They continued to debate television and then moved on to talking about some of the art they’d seen before Bucky started to make Steve laugh with his some of his more irreverent observations about some of the people they’d encountered. 

Afterward, they made their way out to the large open area around the fountains in front of the Stark Industries pavilion. The water feature was the size of a small lake, and they were just in time to see the beginning of the evening finale. A host of fountains within the basin were lit with spotlights that flashed and changed color, while the water leapt and sprayed and fireworks exploded low in the sky. Standing watching the spectacle, they laughed and exclaimed, turning to smile at each other often. Steve and Bucky again leaned unconsciously against one another and again Bucky had the strong urge to take Steve’s hand. 

Steve would have welcomed it. Something about the lights on the water, the warmth of the spring evening, and the fireworks seemed to be the perfect ending to a full, exhausting, but entirely satisfying day. He felt as close to Bucky as he ever had after everything they’d shared today, and smiled to himself as he thought about how nice it was that they were comfortably full as they watched the show, instead of shakily hungry. It gave him a deep satisfaction to have been able to do that for Bucky. 

When the fireworks ended, Bucky finally threw his arm around Steve’s neck as he turned them toward the gate that would take them back to the real world. He let his arm rest loosely on Steve’s shoulder as they followed the crowd, in no particular hurry to get to the train station since the trains ran all night.

“You know, Stevie, this was pretty swell. I think all that plannin’ was worth it, ‘cause we saw everything we wanted to, and even some extra stuff.”

“Yeah. It’s been a good day. You’re not sorry we couldn’t find time to do the Amusement zone?”

“Nah. We got Coney Island for that, we can do that anytime. Besides, last time we went to Coney Island—”

“Don’t say it. I mean it.”

“Okay,” Bucky laughed. “Been too good a day to get you sore at me by reminding you of –”

“Bucky, I’m serious! Don’t say it!”

Bucky just laughed while Steve blushed, a little embarrassed by the memory of his first and last ride on the Cyclone, but not nearly as upset as he pretended to be. It was hard to mind anything with Bucky’s arm slung over his shoulder as they walked together through the warm night.

The train was half-full of fairgoers, at least for the first few stops. Slowly, it began to empty as Steve and Bucky sat, murmuring tiredly together about their day as they watched the city go by outside the windows. At about the halfway point, Bucky felt Steve resting heavily against him and looked down to see that Steve was dozing, his head lolling forward. It looked uncomfortable. Bucky instinctively reached his arm up and slid it behind Steve, changing position and pulling Steve into him so that his head was resting against Bucky’s shoulder while Bucky leaned against the window. Steve woke, but didn’t resist or comment.

Their thoughts were remarkably similar as they rode like that, huddled together not speaking. It felt so good, so right and complete to finally be as close as they wanted to be, not fighting the urge to touch each other or move closer, that Bucky moved his head a little to rest it atop Steve’s. None of the few people still on the train car was watching, and Bucky didn’t give a damn if they were. This moment, this connection, felt like a much-needed rest in the midst of a long, difficult journey. He’d have to go back to fighting it in a little while, but for now, it was the perfect ending to a perfect day.

Except for how much Bucky suddenly wanted to kiss Steve. Again he found himself comparing this day and this moment to his date with Shirley Baxter. He hadn’t minded her sneaking kisses on the trolley, nor had he hesitated to sneak some of his own. But compared to this moment, it was as though he’d been playing a part. The deep compulsion, the pure want he felt now made the time with Shirley feel as ephemeral as the wispy mist of morning. The only thing that made resisting the urge bearable was the fact that he could turn his head and touch his lips to Steve’s hair without anyone, even Steve, being the wiser.

But Steve  _ was _ aware of it. He was drowsy, but since Bucky had put his arm around him, he’d been much more awake than he let on. He knew that Bucky couldn’t possibly be kissing him or nuzzling his hair, at least not intentionally. Maybe he was dozing, too. But Steve could imagine that he was, within the privacy of his own mind. He could breathe in the warmth of Bucky’s chest and let his mind picture lifting up his chin to press his lips to Bucky’s, sliding his hand across Bucky’s body to put an arm around him underneath his suit jacket while they kissed. 

He was getting excited thinking those thoughts, but he just couldn’t care right now. His jacket would hide the evidence, and it had just been such a wonderful day, and Bucky was holding him right now… Steve released the brakes on his imagination with a small sigh and, just for a moment, let himself relax his constant vigilance and restraint on his ever-present desire.

The train ride was long, but nonetheless ended too soon for either of them. Steve sat up, masking his reluctance as difficulty waking. Bucky begrudgingly let him go, but couldn’t resist using the hand that had been around him to smooth Steve’s hair where it was sticking up. The warmth in his eyes made Steve actually shudder. 

“Cold?” Bucky asked softly. Too softly.

Steve shrugged and tore his eyes away from Bucky’s. “Just sleepy,” he murmured.

Now that the train was slowing for their station, Steve’s hard-on was no longer pleasurable. In fact, the familiar landscape outside the windows felt like a bucket of cold water that washed all his warm, happy feelings away. This was impossible. Unthinkable. The look in Bucky’s eyes hadn’t been love, or even attraction, but the look an adult gives a sleepy child. He never should have indulged his fantasies like he had. Now he was paying the price.

Bucky saw Steve stiffen and look away, and knew that he had let too much show in his face. A jolt of fear shot through him as they stood, making him look warily around at the few lonely souls on the train car, none of whom were paying them the slightest bit of attention. So it was only Steve who had seen his unguarded emotions. That was both the best and worst outcome.

Stepping off the train, Steve shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and hunched his shoulders, turning toward home. Bucky tucked his own hands in his trousers pockets and took his place walking beside him. 

“Be good to get home. Been a long day,” Bucky muttered. 

He hoped Steve would say something about it being a good day, but got a short nod and a grunt instead, confirming his fear that he’d overstepped and made Steve uncomfortable. He didn’t say anything more. He knew this mood. Steve wanted Bucky to know he was annoyed with him, maybe even angry, but didn’t want to talk about it. Bucky could ask him questions, or argue with him if he wanted to, but until Steve’s temper cooled, this was all Bucky was going to get. He cursed himself for being weak and selfishly giving in to his need to hold Steve, not even daring to consider that Steve might have felt those light, stolen kisses. Now he’d gone and ruined the end of what had been one of the best days of his life. He slouched as he walked, eyes resolutely on the sidewalk in front of him.

As they reached their apartment building, Steve followed Bucky silently up the stairs. At least he was no longer hard, but now his balls ached. It was no more than he deserved, letting himself get all hot when all Bucky had done was offer him an arm so he wouldn’t go tumbling out of his seat when he fell asleep on the train. He felt pathetic and scrawny, and like spoiled meat that maybe looked like it was still all right, but wouldn’t bear close inspection. And now Bucky was all quiet and distant, because Steve had to go and spoil everything. 

Neither spoke as they entered their dark flat, not bothering to turn on a lamp because there was plenty of ambient light from the street. Bucky tossed his hat onto the shelf above the coat hooks inside the door, and was already in the bedroom before Steve had finished hanging up his coat. Steve pulled his suspenders off his shoulders as he trudged into the bedroom, where Bucky had already removed his jacket and was smoothing it carefully on its thick, wooden hanger. Neither of them bothered fully untying their ties, just loosened them enough to pull them over their heads. 

Once Steve had tossed his good shirt in the laundry hamper, knowing he couldn’t get another wear out of it before it was washed, he padded in stocking feet to the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth. He could feel tears burning behind his eyes, which he told himself was about the lamest thing he could think of. He couldn’t let Bucky see how affected he was by the sudden turn his thoughts had taken. There was no way he’d ever tell him what was wrong. He splashed an extra few handfuls of cold water on his face before returning to the bedroom.

By then, Bucky was down to his boxers, and pushed past him to take his turn in the bathroom. Steve undressed and slid under his covers, lying with his face turned away from Bucky’s side of the room toward the wall. 

In the bathroom, Bucky scowled at himself in the mirror as he squeezed toothpaste onto his brush. He felt terrible for what he’d done, ruining Steve’s night like that. He wanted to apologize, but how could he ever explain? He quickly brushed his teeth and returned to the bedroom. 

As expected, Steve was turned away from him. Bucky flicked the overhead light off and got into his bed, sighing tiredly as he moved around looking for a comfortable position. He felt like crying and wished he could, just to let out some of this hurt.

“Hey, Buck?” Steve’s quiet, muffled voice came from the darkness on the other side of the room.

“Yeah?”

“I had a real good day today. It was a lot of fun.”

Bucky’s tight muscles relaxed a little, hearing that. At least Steve didn’t hate him. “Me, too, Stevie. Thanks again for, you know, the food and stuff. That was a real nice surprise.”

“G’night.”

“Night.”

They were both exhausted from the day, and from the emotions of the evening. But their heads were too full of whirling impressions from all they had seen, and their hearts aching too much for each other, to fall asleep quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I really hope you're enjoying the story. Please leave a comment to let me know what you think - I'd love to know. Or come say hi on Tumblr!


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the second art class, one of the society ladies is rude to Bucky. Always a mistake when Steve's around.

* * *

Breakfast was oatmeal. Breakfast was always oatmeal. Every once in a while, Bucky’s mom would claim to have “bought a little more than she could use” and send the boys home with some bacon or ham. It was a transparent pretense, but Bucky knew that it was really about trying to keep Steve healthy. 

At least that’s what Winnifred Barnes told Bucky in confidence. To Steve, she whispered that Bucky was too proud to accept it, but she was always going to be his mother, no matter how big he got, and it broke her heart to see him hungry. So would Steve please agree, as a favor to her? Because she knew that if Steve agreed, Bucky would, too, and then she wouldn’t have to worry so much... Winnifred Barnes knew how to deal with her boys. 

This morning, however, there was no bacon or ham to go with their oatmeal. They were lucky there was even a glass of milk for each of them, although that exhausted their supply of milk, too. Fortunately, Steve got paid today, which meant he’d bring groceries home from work this afternoon. Mr. Hogan couldn’t afford to pay much, but Steve was the best stock boy he’d ever had, and he was fond of him. So he tried to make it up by letting Steve buy groceries at cost. 

“Don’t forget art class tonight,” Bucky said from across the small table, trying not to grin around his spoon. As if Steve hadn’t mentioned it seven times already this morning.

“Don’t _you_ forget,” Steve retorted. “Otherwise, we’ll be drawin’ Mr. Thomas naked.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow as though Steve had issued a challenge and began to do a pretty good impression of Mr. Thomas instructing the class as he modeled. “Remember to _see_ , class. Don’t just notice the shape of my tackle. Pay attention to the shadows on my balls, the _texture_ of my ass —”

“Bucky!” Steve cried, breathing through his mouth in a valiant effort to keep from snorting milk out his nose as he laughed.

Bucky was laughing, too, although it kind of ruined the impression. He couldn’t help it; it was just so _good_ to have things back to normal after whatever the hell had gotten into him last night. Steve seemed to have forgiven him, or at least to have chosen to pretend Bucky hadn’t crossed the line when they were on the train.

Bucky noticed that Steve had finished eating. “Why don’t you get goin’, and I’ll do the dishes. You gotta be there at eight, but I could only get a half shift, so I don’t gotta be at the warehouse ‘til nine.” 

There were only a couple bowls and glasses, and a couple spoons, but Steve nonetheless grinned as if Bucky had offered to paint the whole apartment. “That’s swell, thanks.” 

It was so polite, for them, that Bucky couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Steve wasn’t just as eager as he was to make things right between them again. In any event, Steve stood and slipped on his jacket, wishing Bucky a good day as he let himself out of the apartment. 

Bucky was right. Steve was grinning to himself as he ran lightly down the stairs to the sidewalk. What a relief that Bucky seemed to be in a good mood this morning, ready to overlook Steve’s weirdness from last night. He’d thought about saying something to Bucky, apologizing for getting moody and ruining their great time. But why remind him? Maybe it was best just forgotten, along with the feelings that had caused it. Yeah, he decided, that had to be for the best, especially since he was gonna have to keep his mind – and his body – under strict control while they were in class tonight.

* * *

Bucky wasn’t in a hurry to get home in the afternoon, since he had some time to kill before Steve’s drawing class. Funny how he didn’t think of it as his own modeling job. Or maybe that just made sense, since he wasn’t getting paid. It really wasn’t about him at all. The class could’ve been drawing anyone; there wasn’t anything special about Bucky. It was Steve’s class. Steve was the reason he was doing it, and the one with the talent. 

He decided to spend some time walking the waterfront, asking around about a job. He wasn’t especially hopeful, but he figured he had as good a shot as anyone if there was any work. He’d developed some muscles throwing freight, and he had a good reputation. That thought caused him to laugh derisively to himself. Around here, a good reputation just meant you didn’t start fistfights, show up drunk, or walk off the job anytime you got bored. Not that he was likely to do any of those things anyway, but he could only imagine what Steve would say if he did. 

As it turned out, there was a ship due in overnight, and a spot on the crew that would start unloading it the next day. Bucky had his union card – you couldn’t be a longshoreman in Brooklyn without one – and he could almost always talk his way into a job if there was one to be had. But there were two problems. First, the jobs were few and far between, and even though the country was slowly getting over the worst of the Depression, competition was still fierce. Second, and far trickier, was the presence and influence of the Mob everywhere throughout the Brooklyn waterfront. Anybody who wasn’t interested in either getting involved with or pissing off “The Combination,” as they called themselves, had the added challenge of reading the signs to make sure the job wasn’t already promised to somebody’s nephew. If it was, pushing too hard to get hired could create problems far bigger than unemployment.

Bucky got lucky, because there didn’t seem to be any strings connected to the job, and the hiring boss, Nick Brody, was a guy he’d worked for before. Bucky let himself into his apartment a happy man, with at least four full days of work guaranteed. He couldn’t wait to tell Steve. 

Which reminded him of the drawing class, and the growing problem of Steve. Well, Steve wasn’t the problem. Not at all. The problem was Bucky, and his increasingly uncontrollable attraction to Steve. For a second, Bucky flashed on Nick Brody and the way he’d ribbed Bucky as he’d talked to him about the job. Teasingly asking if Bucky was sure he could work hard, if he wouldn’t be too tired from “dancing” – said with a wink – with Shirley Baxter or whoever the dame of the week was. 

Bucky had laughed right along with him, but all the time he’d been wondering what Nick Brody would say if he knew what he really was. It was not a pleasant thought. Bucky might be doing hard physical labor and struggling to make ends meet, but he could usually find enough work to keep himself fed. He could even take a pretty girl out dancing sometimes, and spring for a day at the fair if he scrimped. He’d lost his Pop, but he still had his mom and sisters, some friends, and especially his best friend. He was a pretty lucky, basically happy guy. 

All of that would be shot to hell if anyone ever found out.

It was one thing to feel the way he did, and even to enjoy the rare, forbidden moments when he played with fire by letting a few of those thoughts actually form in his mind. But the reality was that, as guilty and dirty as the thought made him feel, he was going to have to “prepare” for the class. Because if he should happen to lose control like he’d almost done the week before… After what happened last night, Bucky was not going to take the chance that Steve would look at him the way he’d done last week, those vivid blue eyes shining with… whatever it had been, and have a bunch of society dames see what that did to him. He needed to take advantage of the time before Steve got home to make sure that wouldn’t happen. 

He unbuttoned his work pants as he made his way into the bathroom for the Vaseline.

* * *

This time, Steve and Bucky walked together to the gallery for the class. Bucky had to be there early, and Steve was too excited to wait. It was fun to walk there with Bucky, who was the one person in the world who could appreciate what the class truly meant to him. He laughed as he teased Bucky about being naked in front of all the rich ladies in the class, and was thrilled to actually get him to blush a little. 

“Yeah, you laugh now, Stevie, but just you wait. One’a those fancy broads is gonna show their drawings to their daughter and the daughter’s gonna fall in love with the paragon of manliness in the pictures. She’ll demand to know who I am and the next thing you know, I’m livin’ the high life in a mansion.”

“Sure, Buck.” Steve shoved Bucky with his hand as he laughed.

“I won’t forget you, though, pal. If she doesn’t have a sister, you can be our butler or somethin’.”

“Gee, thanks,” Steve muttered drily. 

“Fine, you don’t wanna be our butler, you wanna be all ‘snooty artiste’ about it, we’ll just pay you to draw us _both_ naked, and we’ll buy you a gallery where you can sell the pictures.”

“Just pictures of you and her naked? That’s all I get to draw?”

“Well, it’s your gallery. You can draw whatever you want. But you know the public’s gonna be demanding more of me.”

“I don’t know how you get that swelled head through doorways. Now shut up about society dames and their daughters. We’re almost there and I don’t want any of ‘em to hear.”

Bucky was still smirking when they went through the door of the gallery.

Both Steve and Bucky were more comfortable than they’d been the week before, which made the class more enjoyable for both of them. For the first hour, things went much as they had the first week. Steve was able to concentrate better, in part because Mr. Thomas wanted the class to work on drapery studies, so he had draped a length of some shiny fabric across Bucky’s thigh and over one arm. Steve definitely found it easier to focus on shading when Bucky’s crotch was covered.

The problems began after the break, when Mrs. Cadwallader decided that she was too warm. Mrs. Cadwallader was a tall, stout woman with a florid complexion and a rich, deep voice who had worn an attention-getting hat to both classes. Tonight’s was a lozenge-shaped number with flowers in the middle and netting around the edges that matched her dress. Around her neck she wore a fox stole, the kind with its head and paws flattened but still attached, fastened with a diamond brooch at her throat.

She was the wife of a steel tycoon who introduced herself as “Mrs. Arthur Cadwallader” and spoke with a plummy accent that seemed as affected as, in fact, it was. As a young woman, she’d been a beauty with a very ambitious mother, and was quite determined that no one should remember that she’d been born Eugenia Snodgrass, daughter of a Scranton pharmacist.

“Wilson, dear, do open that window, won’t you? It’s awfully stuffy in here.”

Wilson Thomas was standing with one of the male students, providing feedback on his work. He looked up at hearing his name, then over at the window, then at Bucky, then back to Mrs. Cadwallader. With a visible effort at mollifying her, he said, “Of course, your comfort is of the utmost importance to me, Mrs. Cadwallader, and I’d like nothing more. It is, however, traditional in a life drawing environment to be solicitous of the model’s comfort. We are all wearing clothes, you see, but Mr. Barnes is not.”

“Oh, poo,” she scoffed, waving the hand holding her charcoal indifferently in Bucky’s direction without even looking at him. “The boy won’t mind, and I’m simply too warm.”

Bucky saw Steve react to the woman thoughtlessly dismissing him. Without moving from where he was reclined on a haphazard platform in the center of the circle of students, Bucky made a low sound that caught Steve’s attention and shook his head minutely. Now was not the time for him to take one of his stands, and Mrs. Steel Tycoon wasn’t some neighborhood idiot being mean to a dog waiting for its owner outside a shop. 

Steve’s look in response let Bucky know he wasn’t happy, but Bucky once again made that almost invisible motion with his head that told him to hold his tongue. 

Mr. Thomas glanced at Bucky, who nodded subtly and purposely didn’t look at Mrs. Cadwallader. Two could play at the “You’re beneath my notice” game. Thomas – who was, after all, paying to heat the room – moved to the window and opened it just a crack. It was only early May, after all, and evenings could get cool.

For the next few minutes, the room was quiet but for the scratch of charcoal on paper and the low drone of Wilson Thomas making comments to individual students on their work. It was then time to change the students’ focus again, which he did by explaining what he wanted them to do and demonstrating with a quick sketch on his own easel as the students watched. Afterward, they went back to their work, each quietly intent on his or her attempt to duplicate what he had done. 

“Honestly, Wilson,” Mrs. Cadwallader’s resonant braying broke the intent silence. “You hardly cracked the window at all and it is positively sweltering in here. Please do as I asked and _open the window_.”

With an apologetic look at Bucky, Thomas began to move toward the window. As he did, Bucky saw Steve turn toward Mrs. Cadwallader and said quietly, “Steve, don’t.”

As if that had ever stopped Steve Rogers. 

“Ma’am,” Steve began, his voice quite respectful if a little strained as he tried to rein in his anger. “I noticed that you’re wearing that, um… fur—” Steve indicated his own neck, not knowing the word for the fox stole she was wearing. “Maybe you could take that off, and you’d be more comfortable without having to open the window any more than it is.”

The dusky red color that bloomed up from somewhere beneath the fox stole to stain Mrs. Cadwallader’s face did not look healthy. She gasped a shocked, “Young man, I hardly think it is for you to tell me what to do.”

“No, Ma’am. I wasn’t. I’m just trying to—”

“Well, I should think not,” she huffed. “Wilson, the window.”

“No.” Steve spoke in a normal, conversational tone, but there was steel in the word nonetheless.

_Here we go_ , Bucky thought, wondering if this old broad was a scrapper. He really didn’t want to have to wade – naked – into a brawl between Steve and this overdressed battleaxe. But he would if he had to.

“Why, I never— Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, Ma’am, you’ve mentioned a few times that you’re Mrs. Arthur Cadwallader. And that’s Bucky Barnes.” He motioned toward Bucky, who gave him a “Don’t drag me into this” look that Steve chose to ignore, as Bucky had known he would. 

“Are you suggesting that I should be uncomfortable so that some— So that your _friend_ can be comfortable?” The dusky red was going purple, and several people in the class were becoming concerned that Mrs. Cadwallader might have some sort of episode. Still, not one of them had the courage to move a muscle or attempt to interrupt the confrontation between David and Goliath. In part, because the painfully thin, slightly scruffy kid and the society matron seemed pretty evenly matched. 

“No, Ma’am. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, or Bucky, either. That’s why I’m suggesting that maybe you could take off that fur, and then you’d both be all right.” 

“Wilson! Are you going to let him speak to me like that?” Mrs. Cadwallader shrieked as Bucky stood, ready to protect Steve if she swung, because she kind of seemed like a hitter.

“I— Well, Mrs.— Mr. Rogers, I—”

“Ma’am, I apologize if I seem rude,” Steve bulled ahead. “I sure don’t mean to be. It’s just that Bucky’s my best friend, and as good a guy as you’ll meet. He doesn’t deserve to get pneumonia, Ma’am. Nobody does, believe me. I get it at least once every winter, and it’s terrible. In fact, Bucky takes care of me when I’m sick. That’s how good a guy he is.”

“He’s just a… a…”

“I think you might not want to finish that sentence, Mrs. Cadwallader, if you still want me to be the impolite one in this situation,” Steve advised quietly, still speaking in an entirely respectful tone, and what seemed to be an air of regret at his own rudeness. 

Bucky damn near choked trying to hold back his laughter. The rest of the room seemed to be having trouble controlling their reactions, too, although they were a bit mixed. Most people were as amused as Bucky was, a few were offended on Mrs. Cadwallader’s behalf, and the rest just tried to be invisible. Fortunately for everyone, especially Wilson Thomas, who was contemplating opening the window just so he could escape, Mrs. Carlyle stepped in.

“You know, Genie, I wore a stole here tonight, although it’s nowhere near as beautiful as yours. Why, the face on yours is simply adorable,” she said from the easel next to Mrs. Cadwallader’s. She took a couple of seemingly casual steps toward her as she spoke, putting out a hand in a mute request for permission to touch the stole. Mrs. Cadwallader, still purple and fuming, nonetheless nodded. Beginning to pet the stole, Mrs. Carlyle gushed, “Oh, the sheen on this fur is breathtaking, really. And so soft!”

“Well, my Arthur gave it to me when we sailed on the Queen Mary,” Mrs. Cadwallader sputtered, beginning to notice that the entire room was focused on her. 

“Mine is quite warm, which is why I took it off. It’s a little scratchy, too, to tell you the truth,” Mrs. Carlyle went on, petting the stole and smiling as though they were at a cocktail soiree or in a ballroom. “I’m certain this beauty could never be scratchy, but if you like, you could put it with mine, over there.” She indicated an open-faced coat closet behind them. 

“I will not be told what to do by this street urchin! ‘Bucky’, indeed.”

“Oh, never mind that,” Mrs. Carlyle said breezily. “My children adore James, and Rutherford quite raves about Steven, you know. He commissioned Steven to draw a lovely portrait of me for my birthday, did I tell you?” She began unobtrusively crowding Mrs. Cadwallader until she took a step to the side, at which point Mrs. Carlyle put a hand under her arm and began to walk, as though Mrs. Cadwallader had turned with the specific intent of going to the coat closet. Mrs. Carlyle kept up a constant chirp of cheerful, flattering talk as she helped Mrs. Cadwallader remove her fox stole, everything about her behavior suggesting that it had been Mrs. Cadwallader’s idea all the time.

Bucky shook his head in wonder at Mrs. Carlyle’s cleverness, and was relieved to see some of the fight go out of Steve. Several others in the class exchanged glances while Mr. Thomas quickly resumed his critique of one of the students’ drawings. Bucky made a noise and, when Steve looked over at him, he pointed at Steve’s easel with a dirty look that spoke volumes. Steve glared defiantly back, but resumed his drawing. 

The entire class pretended not to notice Mrs. Carlyle and Mrs. Cadwallader returning to their own easels. Only Bucky acknowledged Mrs. Carlyle’s assistance, brazenly winking at her when Mrs. Cadwallader wasn’t looking. She responded with a small, conspiratorial grin. 

For the rest of the class, Mrs. Cadwallader pointedly ignored Steve, and made sure not to make eye contact with Bucky. Steve only managed to say a quick “Thank you” to Mrs. Carlyle as they were cleaning up afterward, neither of them wanting to take the chance that Mrs. Cadwallader might overhear something to kick the whole mess up again.

* * *

“What’d you think you were doin’, talkin’ to that society broad like that, huh, Stevie?” Bucky complained as soon as they’d walked about a block from the gallery. “She might’ve gotten you thrown outta the class, and then what?”

“C’mon, Buck, I wasn’t gonna let her treat you like that.”

“That’s for me to decide, isn’t it?”

“Yes and no. You can be polite, sure, but when somebody tries to walk all over somebody else, and you don’t say anything, that’s like giving them permission.”

“Oh, brother,” Bucky sighed.

“It’s true! Somebody like that—” 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re right. It was just awkward, and that lady could make big trouble for you if she wanted to.”

“How? I’m nobody. And that would be a lot of effort over just opening a window. I doubt she’d bother. That’s the thing about bullies, Buck, they’re scared themselves. And lazy, most of ‘em.”

“All right, pal,” Bucky said, putting out a hand and squeezing Steve’s shoulder. 

“It’s like agreeing to support Poland. Hitler, now there’s a bully! And most of the world’s just lettin’ him get away with it. But France and Britain, they’re standin’ up to him, not lettin’ him treat Poland like Mrs. Cadwallader treated you, or worse. The United States oughtta be doin’ that, too, ‘stead’a just actin’ like we don’t know what he’s doin’.”

“I’m afraid nobody’s gonna be able to pull anything as smooth as Mrs. Carlyle did back there. You know, Steve, I think there might really be a war.”

For the rest of the walk home, their conversation was much more serious than usual.

* * *

“Hey, Steve?” Bucky sounded uncharacteristically reserved as he interrupted Steve’s reading. Steve was lying on the couch with The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes while Bucky sat on the floor with his back against the couch, reading the newspaper Mr. Hogan had given Steve the day before. It was three days old, but that didn’t matter much, and they couldn’t afford to subscribe themselves.

“Huh?” Steve grunted, not looking up from his book. 

Bucky let his head fall back onto Steve’s thigh. “Thanks.”

Now Steve looked up. “For what?”

“For standin’ up for me in class tonight. I been thinkin’ about it, and you’re right. That lady was pretty snooty, and who knows what she woulda called me if you hadn’t stopped her. I can take it, but… thanks.”

“Jeez, Buck,” Steve said, now setting his book face-down on his chest to look at Bucky. “I’m not lettin’ anyone treat you like that, I don’t care how rich she is.”

“It was nice, what you said. About me bein’ a good guy and all.”

Steve’s mouth twisted up in a half-grin as he replied, “Well, I couldn’t very well tell her the truth, now could I?”

“Wise guy,” Bucky smiled up at him.

Steve turned then, lifting his legs over Bucky’s head to sit up, so that he was sitting on the couch next to where Bucky was sitting on the floor. It was suddenly very necessary to Steve to make sure Bucky understood that he was important, and deserved far better than some rich lady’s disdain. “I’m always gonna defend you, Buck. Don’t you know that? You’re the most important thing in the world to me.”

“Well, I’m just sayin’, I appreciate it.”

Steve was frowning a bit at the floor, obviously wanting to say something and looking for the words. “I honestly don’t know where I’d be without you. I mean, we got friends, and your mom’s real nice to me, but I sometimes feel like it’s you and me against the world. And that’s okay with me, ‘cause you’re all I need. You got no idea how much I—” 

Bucky felt Steve tense up next to him and looked up. Steve’s face had gone red and he suddenly stood, closing his book and muttering about needing to get to bed.

“How much you what?” Bucky asked.

“Nothin’. I don’t know what I was gonna say. Probably somethin’ about what a dunce you are.” Steve tossed his book onto the wooden crate in front of the sofa and quickly made his way toward the bedroom. 

Bucky didn’t want to make Steve any more uncomfortable than he obviously already was, so he let Steve pretend. He felt like he needed to say something, although he had no idea what, so he fell back on their normal ribbing.

“Yeah, probably. That’s about the level of intellectual conversation I’d expect from you.”

“Just tryin’ not to tax your weak brain,” Steve called from the bedroom. He was glad his voice sounded close to normal, because he was shaken.

What had gotten into him? He’d almost said— Even what he _had_ said was way too much. Bucky was acting like he believed Steve’s line about not knowing what he was going to say, but there was no telling whether he actually did. Bucky knew him better than anyone, and was smart as a whip besides. And it would be just like him to let Steve off the hook like that. He sure hoped not, though. If Bucky suspected… It was too horrible to think about. Steve forced himself to think about the things Mr. Thomas had said in class tonight, instead.

Bucky sat for a long time, thinking. What had Steve been about to say? It couldn’t have been what Bucky was imagining, what Bucky hungered for Steve to say, but it sure felt like it there for a second. And Steve suddenly clamming up like that and scurrying off to bed when it wasn’t even ten O’clock yet… 

For just a moment, Bucky let himself wonder. Was it possible? Could there possibly be a chance that Steve might feel the way Bucky felt? No, of course that couldn’t have been what he’d been about to say. 

_Could it?_

No. No, of course not.

Bucky shook out his newspaper and tried to focus on what he was reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoying the story? Wanna scream about Stucky with me? Please comment and let me know! Or come say hi on Tumblr - I'd love to meet you.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the third art class, and Bucky's developed a strategy to make sure he doesn't have unfortunate _manifestations_ of his feelings. Steve hasn't.

* * *

Both Steve and Bucky had to work the next few days, which was good for a couple of reasons. First, and most obvious, because it meant they were earning money. Second, because since the night of the last art class, things had been a little different between them in a way neither of them could identify. Steve was too careful. A little too polite. A little too respectful of Bucky’s space. That just wasn’t who they were, never had been, and it sat wrong with Bucky. 

But Steve couldn’t help it. He was thrown by what he’d almost said the night of the class, because he knew now what it was. 

He’d almost told Bucky that he was in love with him. 

From the moment the words had tried to force themselves out of his mouth, he’d realized what he was going to say, and he’d realized with a profound certainty that it was true.

He tried not to be different now. After all, it wasn’t like loving Bucky was new. All that had happened was that he’d realized, in a flash of life-altering insight, that what he felt wasn’t just some twisted desire. It was a deep, soul-filling love that made everything about Bucky important to Steve. The physical lust wasn’t the core of Steve’s love. It was  _ caused _ by it. Sure, Bucky was gorgeous. But he’d always been gorgeous, and plenty of girls wanted him without loving him. Someday, one of them would fall in love with him. But Steve knew somehow that what had happened to him was the opposite. He’d fallen in love with Bucky, and out of that love had grown this insistent desire. 

Was it proximity? Maybe. But Steve didn’t think so. He had other friends, some good friends. But he’d never felt anything like this for any of them. Was it because girls didn’t pay any attention to him? Again, maybe. But again, Steve didn’t think so, and for the same reason. It was Bucky. Just Bucky.

“Hey, buddy, you in a trance or somethin’?” Bucky asked, snapping his fingers in front of Steve’s vacant eyes. He’d been sitting in his usual drawing position on the sofa for at least five minutes, pencil not moving, eyes looking at nothing. 

Steve startled a little at the interruption of his thoughts. As usual, Bucky was sitting on the floor with his newspaper, leaning against the sofa, close to where Steve was sitting cross-legged on the cushion under the light. “No, I was just thinkin’.”

“What about? You look like you swallowed a frog.”

“Nothin’, just my drawing.”

“You’re drawin’ a tin can, Steve. How much thinking can that take?”

Steve blushed a little and went back to drawing. 

“Hey, really, pal. You okay?”

“Sure, Buck, why wouldn’t I be? 

“I dunno. Driftin’ off like that.”

“I’m fine. Tryin’ to get the hang of this depth shading, is all.”

Bucky shrugged. “We goin’ to see that new Tarzan picture tomorrow night?”

Steve looked up in surprise. “It’s Friday. You don’t have a date?”

“Guess not, since I’m askin’ you about goin’ to the show.”

“Okay, then,” Steve said, as nonchalantly as he could. It occurred to him that Bucky hadn’t been out with, or even talked about, a girl since going dancing with Shirley Baxter. 

Bucky went back to reading, and a few minutes of quiet followed. The sound of Steve’s pencil scratching against the paper was only a fraction louder than the sounds of voices and traffic from the street. 

Steve tried as long as he could, but then couldn’t stop himself from asking, “How come you don’t have a date?”

“’Cause I don’t. Why ask me? You don’t have one either.”

“Yeah, but you always have a date. What about Shirley?”

“What about her?”

“Don’t you like her?”

“She’s swell. I just don’t feel like takin’ her out, that’s all. What’s with the third degree?”

Steve huffed out a breath, irritated now for reasons he couldn’t at first understand. “I’m not givin’ you the third degree, I just noticed you haven’t taken a girl out since you went dancing with Shirley, and that was almost two weeks ago. If not Shirley, how come you haven’t been out with someone else?”

Bucky shrugged and made a lot of noise turning the page of his newspaper and smoothing the creases out. “Just nobody I particularly like right now, I guess.”

“Well, why not?” Steve found himself actually glaring at Bucky now, suddenly overcome with the feelings he usually had to deal with when Bucky  _ did _ have a date. 

Bucky glanced back at him with a look that was frequently accompanied by the words  _ you’re an idiot, Steve. _ But all he said was, “I dunno.”

“Anyway,” Steve heard himself snap, “What’s that got to do with anything? You’ve never been very picky before. Why start now?”

Now Bucky turned fully around to face Steve, stung. “Hey! What’s with you?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Well, it sure sounded like you did, so what gives? What’d I do?”

“Nothin’, Bucky. I’m sorry.” Steve was red-faced from fighting his entirely irrational anger, but he also looked as chagrined as he felt. “I don’t know why I said that,” he mumbled. “Let’s just forget it.”

Steve felt like a crumb for snapping at Bucky when it wasn’t really Bucky’s fault. He wondered if maybe he was losing his marbles, because how could he feel frustrated and jealous when it was  _ him  _ Bucky was going to the movies with tomorrow, and he was telling Steve he didn’t have his eye on any specific girl right now? 

Once he gave it a little thought, though, he quickly realized that what he felt was the kind of instant irritability that comes from exhaustion. This whole situation was really starting to wear on him. All this holding back, trying to will his imagination and his dick and his heart into submission, it all hurt. And he’d been fighting his feelings and hurting like that since he first noticed Bucky and Bucky first noticed girls. 

Bucky’s innocent remark about not having his eye on anyone right now had made Steve see red because it reminded him, once again, that Bucky was Absolutely. Not. Interested. Not in guys generally, and not in Steve in particular. Bucky was a handsome guy who danced like a dream and dated a string of pretty girls from among the flock who always seemed to be fighting for his attention. His reason for dating wasn’t — would never be — a lack of options. 

With those thoughts, Steve was launched on a long, winding path that he’d been down a million times before. Next, he reminded himself that his love for Bucky was impossible and, even if it wasn’t, a scrawny punk like him wouldn't stand a chance. From there, he told himself how unfair it was that he couldn’t help having the hots for a fella anyway, and of all the fellas on Earth, it had to be his best friend, and that friend just  _ had _ to be gorgeous. These familiar thoughts whirled, speeding up. Steve just felt so  _ helpless _ and he didn’t know what to  _ do  _ and it was all so damn frustrating and it he loved Bucky so fucking much he ached with it and dammit he just wanted to punch something. 

With a sigh, Steve went back to his drawing. Bucky looked at him for a moment, waiting for him to say something else, but when he made it clear he wasn’t going to, Bucky turned back around, bewildered.

He tried to settle back down with his paper. Except that he couldn’t concentrate on it now. What the hell had Steve meant by that crack? It wasn’t like Bucky was out with a different girl every night. And when he did date, he only dated nice girls. There were plenty of roundheeled floozies around some of the dance halls he went to, but it wasn’t like he was giving any of them the time of day. But apparently, that wasn’t not how Steve saw things. 

Bucky was stunned. Where had that come from? How long had Steve been thinking of him that way? He did his best to help Steve find dates, and he never rubbed Steve’s nose in it when Bucky had a date and Steve didn’t. 

Come to think of it, Nick Brody down at the docs had said something kind of similar to Bucky the other day, hadn’t he? Except Nick had seemed to be congratulating Bucky on his success with women, just giving him a rough time for fun. Maybe Bucky had read him wrong. Maybe people thought Bucky was some kind of Casanova, tomcatting around and no better than those loose girls he’d just been looking down on.

At least, that’s what Steve seemed to think, and Steve would know. Steve knew about every girl Bucky took out. Bucky didn’t volunteer information, but he wasn’t stingy with it if Steve seemed interested, either. 

Bucky felt almost sick. It wasn’t news to Bucky that Steve was the better half of the two of them, but he’d never treated Bucky like that. Bucky hadn’t even known Steve felt that way before now. Jeez. Good thing Steve would never know how Bucky felt about him, if Steve saw him as some kind of cheap goods. 

It was also a good thing Bucky didn’t cry. Because right now, he definitely wanted to.

*  *  *

* * *

By the day of the third art class, things between Steve and Bucky had settled into a more normal state. They never did stay mad at each other for long, and they hadn’t even had a fight this time. Neither of them knew what  _ had  _ happened, just that something had, and they both felt it. But without their having to discuss it – which neither one of them would have dreamed of doing – their natural affinity had pretty much reasserted itself.

Bucky didn’t debate whether to stroke himself off before the class. It had worked last time, and he figured sitting fully exposed with Steve staring at him with that almost reverent look in his eyes would affect him the way it always did. So he didn’t hesitate when he reached the apartment. He set his lunch pail on the counter and headed for the tiny bathroom.

Bucky had plenty of experience at this, and a more-than-adequate imagination. But he didn’t have a lot of time before Steve got home from the grocery, and there was immediately a problem. Whenever he closed his eyes, Bucky kept picturing Steve. 

As he stood, leaning against the door of the tiny bathroom of their flat, pants around his ankles and his dick in his hand, he tried thinking about Shirley. When that didn’t work, he tried thinking about other girls he’d dated. That wasn’t doing much, until somehow it was once again Steve filling his mind: the way his hair fell into his blue eyes, and the soft pink of his lips… Bucky popped his eyes open to dispel the image. Because that  _ did  _ make him feel something. He forced his thoughts to Loretta Young and then Carole Lombard. And then both of them, together with him in a gigantic, soft bed in some luxurious hotel someplace glamorous. 

Yeah, that started to work. The more indecent he made his fantasy, the harder he got, until he was squeezing his eyes shut and pulling mercilessly as he squeezed. What if he was givin’ it to one of those glamor-pusses while she was doin’ something to the other one? His hand flew, and it would probably have been a good idea to scoop out another fingerful of Vaseline, but he was close now. And then he imagined that one of the starlets slipped a finger or two into him, and he was there, biting back a cry as he spurted into his wad of toilet paper.

It was more work than it should have been.

*  *  *

Wilson Thomas was chatting lightly with two of the male students from the class when Steve and Bucky arrived. 

“Oh, Mr. Barnes, I’m glad to see you,” he chided softly. “I was beginning to worry.”

“I’m not late, am I?” Bucky asked, wide-eyed.

“Not yet. But I worry about everything. It’s my nature. Hello, Mr. Rogers.”

“Hello, sir. Do you need any help setting anything up?” Steve asked politely.

“No, everything is ready. But please, try not to antagonize Mrs. Cadwallader tonight if you can help it. She’s a very influential woman.”

“I won’t antagonize her, but you might wanna ask her to—”

“He won’t,” Bucky cut Steve off with a smile at Mr. Thomas, followed by a warning look at Steve. He just kept glaring when Steve gave him a “Who, me?” expression. 

Wilson Thomas held court, telling stories of the art world as it had been before the Crash as the rest of the students gradually arrived. By the time they were all present and had taken their places while Wilson Thomas guided Bucky into the pose he wanted, it was clear that Mrs. Cadwallader had chosen to simply ignore Steve and Bucky entirely, as she had always done. That suited Bucky and Steve just fine. 

For the first pose, Mr. Thomas asked the class to do a quick drawing of Bucky that was composed entirely of long lines. He seemed to Bucky to go on for quite some time in flowy, poetic terms about… something, although the idea seemed pretty simple to Bucky. But then, he wasn’t the artist. 

Steve seemed to be particularly focused on his work. He was looking at Bucky in that way Bucky could practically feel, and it felt good. But Steve was clearly in that netherworld he inhabited when he was truly absorbed in what he was doing. His brows, thick and darker than the bangs that always fell over his eyes, were lowered in concentration. 

He looked incandescent to Bucky. His pale, soft skin seemed to be lit from within, with a delicate flush that gave him a look of fragile sweetness that was entirely at odds with who Bucky knew him to be. He was thin and had physical limitations that meant he was often sick, but Steve Rogers was the least fragile person Bucky had ever known. And he certainly wasn’t sweet. Something about that contrast was part of his allure. 

The second pose became uncomfortable after a while. Bucky didn’t complain, because they were halfway through the exercise by then, and he wasn’t much of a complainer, anyway. But he was pretty glad when Mr. Thomas called time and he could take a break. He stretched gratefully, not particularly worried about how well his robe could follow the motions. After all, these people had been gawking at his physique for weeks now. It seemed a little dumb to be concerned about modesty now.

Except that he saw Mrs. Cadwallader looking at him with scorn from across the room where she stood with the other tycoons’ wives from the class. She averted her eyes immediately when he noticed, but not before he caught the disapproval in her expression. Now why did that just make him want to laugh, when the idea of Steve thinking poorly of him had cut him to the heart? 

Bucky knew why. He’d discovered it on the night Steve had made that comment about him dating several girls. Bucky cared more about Steve’s good opinion than anyone’s, and that included his own parents. He couldn’t live with Steve being ashamed of him, or thinking he wasn’t a good guy. And it wasn’t just because of the way that made Bucky feel. It was because they’d been best friends since either of them could remember, and Bucky knew Steve. If Steve thought his best friend had become a fink, then that would hurt Steve. And that, Bucky couldn’t allow. 

Because he was in love with Steve. 

The knowledge bothered Bucky less than he would have thought. Mostly, he suspected, because there wasn’t anything new about how he felt. He just understood it better now. It didn’t make his powerful physical attraction to Steve less problematic, but it did make it somehow less unsavory. Bucky knew as well as anyone how deranged it was, how abnormal and wrong. But knowing that his desire for Steve came from love, well… made it seem less like he was defiling Steve by wanting him. And that felt like a weight lifting from Bucky’s heart. 

After the break, the next exercise required Mr. Thomas to put Bucky into a position that he could hold comfortably for an hour. At first, Bucky didn’t think much of it. He was getting pretty used to holding poses and finding ways to amuse himself. Sometimes he let his mind drift, which more and more often seemed to land him in thoughts about what was happening in Europe. It wasn’t comfortable thinking, especially being a healthy twenty-two-year-old man who could count on being drafted if the country decided to enter the war and his number came up. 

When those thoughts got too heavy, Bucky looked up to see if he could catch Steve’s eye and maybe make a face or two at him. What he saw when he did surprised him. Steve looked distinctly… something. Upset? Uncomfortable? Troubled? 

Maybe he was thinking something along the same lines Bucky had been. Talk of war was everywhere these days. Bucky tried clearing his throat, but Steve didn’t respond. He went on drawing whatever he was drawing. When he looked up from his work, however, Bucky noticed where Steve targeted his eyes, and was immediately delighted. So that was it. Oh, this could be fun. Bucky was lying on the makeshift platform again, and his position allowed him to see Steve’s face, although he was at an oblique angle and Steve was facing his naked backside. Which is where Steve’s intent gaze was focused.

Bucky couldn’t wait until he got Steve’s attention and could do some eyebrow-waggling or something. He actually had to stifle a chuckle. But Steve didn’t seem to really see him; he was too intent on what he was doing. It was a little disappointing, but Bucky didn’t mind much, because immediately on the heels of that realization was a warm feeling of pride. He’d always been a little in awe of Steve’s artistic talent. 

But something about Steve still didn’t seem right. He was shifting on his feet, and he looked a little flushed and sweaty. He didn’t have the usual dreamy expression on his face, either. In fact, he really didn’t look that good. Oh, shit. Maybe he was getting sick, or his heart was acting up again. Damn, that was all he needed. If he had to miss one of these classes that were so important to him… 

Steve slid a hand across the front of the old shirt of Bucky’s Pop’s that he wore to protect his clothes. Down low. And Bucky would swear that he’d seen a flash of the outline of… Maybe it wasn’t because he was embarrassed to be drawing Bucky’s naked ass. Maybe it was because he was  _ hard  _ while he was drawing Bucky’s naked ass. 

Well. That could be amusing, too. There’d been a few years there when neither of them had found their lack of control over their erections funny. Boners could be  _ extremely _ embarrassing and fucking  _ persistent _ . But that hadn’t happened to either of them in a long time. At least not to Bucky and, to his knowledge, not to Steve either. These days, they still didn’t have a lot of control, but it took at least a  _ little _ something to—

No. It couldn’t be. Steve couldn’t be hard because of Bucky. That just wasn’t within the realm of possibility. Especially when he’d just learned Steve was put off by Bucky’s too-abundant social life. Still, there had been that conversation last week, where Steve had bitten something back that Bucky had dreamed might be an echo of his own feelings, and if he was now fighting a ferocious erection while looking at Bucky… 

A few more minutes of surreptitious observation told Bucky he was right. Steve wasn’t getting sick. He was in the grips of an insistent hard-on and failing miserably at willing it away. The idea that it might be Bucky affecting Steve that way was something Bucky couldn’t afford to think about. Sure, his dick was hidden by his thigh in this position, but he’d have to get up sometime. As much as he’d enjoy shocking the shit out of Mrs. Cadwallader by standing up flying a jolly roger, he didn’t think she’d enjoy it much, and he doubted he’d get to laugh long. 

Once the class ended and he was dressed, though, Bucky did think about it. He had to, because he simply couldn’t stop considering the wildly implausible suggestion that Steve’s condition had been a reaction to  _ him _ . And if it had been, if the things Bucky’s secret heart longed for could, miraculously, become a reality… 

Oh, shit. What the fuck was he supposed to do  _ now _ ?

The walk home began quietly. Bucky didn’t want to walk home in silence, especially given his current agitation, so he brought up the things he’d been thinking about what was happening in Germany and Stalin’s most recent threats. Like everyone else, they were afraid, and needed to talk about the fear. 

That topic was good for about half the distance before Bucky heard himself say, “I was a little worried about you during the class, pal. You didn’t look too good there for a while.”

He had no idea where that had come from. He certainly hadn’t intended to mention Steve’s erection – ever – and he felt a little like someone else had spoken with his voice. But it was out there now, so what the hell. Bucky did want very much to know whether there was any chance he’d been right, so he just left the question hanging between them. 

Steve felt the blush burn through him. Bucky had  _ seen  _ that? Oh, shit. Had the whole class seen? He could try to deny it, but he was pretty sure Bucky knew exactly what his problem had been. Steve’s pants were big on him, like they always were, and he’d been wearing his smock, but still. He took in a deep breath and decided to just brazen it out. 

“You got somethin’ to say?” 

“Nah, not me,” Bucky replied, already fighting a grin. He knew Steve well enough that he’d pretty much read his thoughts. So he was going to admit he’d been hard, and dare Bucky to mock him. Bucky felt a rush of fondness so strong he had to stop himself from throwing his arm around Steve’s neck and giving him one of those rough hugs.

“Shut up. Ain’t like it never happened to you.”

Bucky couldn’t hold in his amusement. “True enough. So was it Mrs. Cadwallader?”

Even Steve had to laugh at that. “Yeah. Yeah, it was. She took off that cardigan, and I was just gone.”

“Who wouldn’t be? Good thing she was behind me, ‘cause I don’t think she’d thank me for the compliment.”

It felt like releasing a breath they’d both been holding to laugh together. With Steve’s predicament out in the open and Bucky obviously thinking it was just one of those random things, Steve could laugh about it, too. Bucky didn’t know. Steve felt like he’d dodged a bullet. 

Wilson Thomas had explained that the way he’d posed Bucky would allow him to remain fairly comfortable over the entire hour of the exercise, and would create the drawing challenges he was after. He couldn’t have intended for it to be as unspeakably erotic as it was from Steve’s point of view. He just couldn’t. Not with all those ladies in the room. But Steve had been staggered by the force of his desire from the moment Mr. Thomas had stepped away from Bucky. 

He’d been lying on his side, lifted up on one elbow with his back bowed so that he was facing more or less toward Steve, but Steve’s view also took in his back and – God help him – his perfectly-shaped ass. The point was to create a situation where the students would be challenged to get the proportions right, and they certainly had been. But to Steve, Bucky had looked like he was inviting,  _ demanding _ Steve to ravish him. Or else maybe like he’d already been utterly debauched. 

Either way, Steve had felt his hair quite literally stand up, and a flush travel down his body so heavy and hot that he’d actually been dizzy for a second. And he’d been instantly hard. It only got worse as the silence of the class allowed his imagination to run, and the beauty of Bucky’s nude body spread out before him like a damn buffet tortured Steve. The drawing he’d done was absolute shit, its only saving grace being that he’d gotten the proportions pretty much right. 

Even now, as he walked home, listening to Bucky tease him about his unwilling erection, his balls were killing him. There’d been nothing he could do. He’d considered asking to use the restroom, but it was right off the gallery, and every single sound reverberated into the space so that nobody used it except at break time when there was some noise to cover the more intimate bathroom noises. No way he could’ve taken care of things in there. Finally, mercifully, his traitorous cock had softened enough that he could walk now, but it hurt. 

The familiar squeak of their apartment door was a welcome sound. By the time they were inside, they were both a little tired from the emotion of the last few hours, and not particularly talkative. An unusual seriousness seemed to have drifted over them both and they ate their dinner of macaroni with chopped up hot dogs without saying much of anything. 

Afterward, they listened to the Buck Rogers radio program, like always, but they were still uncharacteristically quiet when the program ended. Usually they talked about it. Tonight, although they’d both liked the story, neither had many comments. 

Instead, they sat for a few moments, slouched side by side on the sofa with their shoulders pressed together the way they always sat to listen to the wireless. Steve had the sense that Bucky had something on his mind. They’d known each other too long for him to doubt that, if he waited long enough, Bucky would tell him what it was.

He didn’t speak at first. He shifted his weight, pressing closer to Steve and moving his leg so that they touched all along their length. If it wouldn’t have been mean, Steve would have moved away from him, because the closeness of Bucky’s body started to cause an excruciatingly uncomfortable renewal of his earlier problem.

After a minute or so, Bucky turned a little toward Steve, seeming not to know what to do with the hand that was resting on the thigh closest to Steve. He breathed in as though about to speak, but then didn’t, as though he’d changed his mind.

“Buck? Everything okay?” Steve finally prodded. He was getting a little nervous.

“Yeah. I just, um… wondered. In class tonight. Did you— Was it—” 

Steve saw Bucky force himself to look him in the eye. Bucky licked his lips. “I—”

Steve’s stomach gave a lurch that was part nerves, part electric anticipation. His dick was definitely throbbing now.

“Yeah?” Steve frowned a little, tipping his head inquiringly. “You can say anything to me, Bucky, you know that.”

Bucky’s hand found its way onto Steve’s thigh, and Steve could feel a tremble in it. He felt a thrill of excitement run up his spine. Even if he’d wanted to, which he most emphatically did not, there was no way Steve could misconstrue the position they were now in, or the naked heat in Bucky’s eyes. 

“You had a boner, and I just… I wondered if it might… um—”

Steve saw the moment Bucky’s nerve failed him. His gray-blue eyes slid from Steve’s and he lifted his hand from Steve’s thigh, patting him heartily with it as if that had been all he meant to do. Bucky pushed off of Steve’s leg as he stood quickly, with a hollow laugh. 

“I just wanted to apologize if I took it too far, makin’ fun of you for it. I been there, you know that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Steve choked, having difficulty catching his breath. “It’s fine. You were no more obnoxious than usual. I’m used to it.”

“Well, I’m gonna hit the sack. I gotta be at the warehouse bright and early, and I don’t know why it should, but just sittin’ there in class makes me tired.”

“Okay, Buck. Sleep tight. I’ll be quiet when I come in. Gonna read for a while.”

“No, you ain’t. You’re gonna sit here and have your nasty thoughts about Mrs. Cadwallader.”

“Really, Bucky? You just apologized for that!”

“Nah, I ain’t bustin’ your chops. I’m gonna be dreamin’ about her, too.” Bucky winked just before he turned the corner toward the bedroom.

Steve never did pick up Sherlock Holmes. He had way too much to think about. Because there was no way a fella like Bucky could ever want a skinny, asthmatic crumb with a bad temper like Steve. But it sure as hell looked like he might. Which would create its own universe of problems if it was true. But Steve Rogers, in that moment, could not even begin to care about any of that. All he wanted to think about was the way Bucky’s hand had felt on his thigh, and the  _ hungry  _ look in his beautiful blue eyes when he looked into Steve’s from close enough to kiss if either of them had had the guts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you're enjoying the story. Let me know what you think by leaving a comment (pretty please?). Or come say hi on Tumblr - let's squee about Stucky together!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the fourth art class, Wilson Thomas tells the students they'll be doing a final project. Afterward, things get tense as Steve and Bucky do their best to ignore their own feelings, and their suspicions that they might be mutual.

* * *

During the fourth art class, the students did a final set of exercises during the first hour. After the break, things changed as Wilson Thomas told them that they were now going to begin their final drawings. For these drawings, the class would be choosing their own styles rather than Mr. Thomas directing them. They could use as many or as few of the techniques they’d been practicing as they chose, although he suggested that, since this was their final opportunity to have him there as instructor and mentor, it made sense to take advantage of that by utilizing them. 

He talked for a long time about each student’s particular style. What he wanted, he said, was for the students to infuse themselves into their final work. 

“I want you to do a drawing that only you can do. A piece that bears your own personal signature. Mr. Barnes will be the model in every drawing, but these drawings will not be nearly as uniform as those we’ve created so far. These drawings will be about you as an artist. You’ve learned about light and shadow, texture and flow, drapery, perspective, using lines to suggest shapes and dots and crosshatching to create a whole from smaller parts. Those have been exercises. Now, class, you will draw.”

For Bucky’s final pose, Mr. Thomas seated him on the stool that had been used in the very first class, with another drapery this time. It didn’t cover much of his magnificent physique and, in fact, Steve thought it somehow emphasized his nudity. Although Bucky’s position was a fairly simple one that wouldn’t be a strain to maintain for the three one-hour periods left in the class, he still looked to Steve like a classical statue come to life. 

“Now, class, does anyone have any questions about this assignment? Is everyone ready?”

No one had questions, so they got to work. As always, Mr. Thomas walked from easel to easel, looking at the work, offering comments, suggestions, and sometimes simply encouragement. 

About halfway through the hour, Mrs. Cadwallader cleared her throat and asked in a surprisingly gracious voice, “Wilson, I wonder if you might be good enough to step over here for a moment.”

Mr. Thomas spoke a few quiet last words to the gentleman with whom he’d been consulting, and went to Mrs. Cadwallader’s side. “Oh, you’ve made some progress already,” he noted.

“Yes, but I wanted to ask, it’s quite stuffy in here today and I thought, perhaps, since it’s a mild day… you might ask Mr. Barnes if he would be amenable to having the window open a bit.”

Bucky swore he could see a flash of trepidation in Mrs. Cadwallader’s face as she threw a look not at him, but at Steve. Wilson Thomas nodded politely and moved a bit closer to Bucky. 

“Mr. Barnes? Are you quite warm enough?”

“Sure, Mr. Thomas. A little fresh air sounds good.” With that, he turned a radiant smile on Mrs. Cadwallader, barely restraining his urge to wink. Her only response was a slight nod, but she couldn’t hide her surprise. Of course, Bucky had been told plenty of times what it was like to be on the receiving end of that smile, and he was intentionally giving her the full wattage just to be a shit. He only allowed himself to look at Steve when she’d gone back to her work. 

Steve wasn’t nearly as amused as Bucky was. He didn’t see Mrs. Cadwallader’s new-found manners as any kind of victory, because he hadn’t been trying to score a point when he’d asked her to be polite to Bucky. He’d simply been doing what was right, and now so was Mrs. Cadwallader. 

Bucky shook his head a little at how fundamentally  _ decent  _ Steve was. As he thought about that, he found himself watching Steve work, glad for the slightly cool breeze from the half-opened window as a flush of warmth washed over him. Sometimes it scared him a little, how good a man Steve was. Bucky would never be that good. In this moment, though, he was glad of that, because he knew it was wrong to find it fucking adorable that a jumped-up society broad was honest-to-God afraid of his Stevie, but dammit, he did. 

Near the end of the class, Mr. Thomas made his way to Steve’s easel and stood for a moment watching over his shoulder as he worked. In fact, he watched so long that Steve finally looked at him and asked, “Is anything wrong, sir?”

“No, no, Mr. Rogers. I’m simply letting your drawing happen to me. There is already something in it that is quite striking. You do have a certain signature to your work. I believe I would know it if I saw your work without being told it was yours.”

Steve had a hard time catching his breath for a moment. He felt a ferocious blush bloom as the artist’s words began to sink in. “Sir, I—  _ Thank you _ . Coming from you, that’s— I don’t even know what to say.”

“Yes, well. Pay attention to the line of that drapery.” 

As Wilson Thomas moved to the next easel, Steve’s eyes met Bucky’s. Bucky was grinning as if he’d just won first prize in some contest, pride and congratulations radiating from him. Steve was so overwhelmed he could hardly return the grin, which Bucky understood completely. In that moment, Bucky was immensely grateful that he’d had a part in Steve getting to take this class, but more than that, he was thrilled that he’d been here to hear Wilson Thomas’s praise of Steve’s artwork. He knew that having someone here to witness the moment made it that much better for Steve, and Bucky could hardly contain his joy. 

Steve’s thoughts were very much along the same lines. He needed to remember to thank Bucky again for this opportunity. For the rest of the class, he floated on a cloud of happiness. 

“Hey, let’s see this masterpiece,” Bucky beamed as he walked over to Steve once the class had ended. 

But Steve looked horrified at the prospect and quickly pulled another sheet of drawing paper over it. “No, not yet,” he cried. “It’s not— I’ve barely started.”

“Aw, really? After what Mr. Thomas said, you’re not even gonna let me see it?”

“Sure I am. When it’s done. C’mon, go get dressed so we can go home. I’m hungry.”

Bucky sighed dramatically and made a face as he turned to head toward the little rest room where his clothes hung on the back of the door. As he dressed, he wondered idly what Steve’s drawing would look like, and why he was being so weird about it. He didn’t give it much thought as he hurried into his clothes, however. He was hungry, too.

On the way home, Bucky noticed that, although they were talking and messing around like always, Steve seemed preoccupied. 

“You thinkin’ about Mr. Thomas said about your work havin’ a signature? You’re not gonna get all snooty on me, are ya?”

Steve scoffed. “Hard to be stuck up when you got holes in your shoes,” he said. “I was thinkin’ about the class, but not about what Mr. Thomas said. I was thinkin’ — Bucky, I wanted to thank you again for this class. I know you’re gonna say it’s nothing, and it’s a hoot to get naked for society dames and all that, but I want you to know how much it means to me. It’s the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me, and you do gobs of nice stuff. So thank you.”

Bucky didn’t have the heart to mock Steve’s obvious sincerity. Instead, he returned it. “Stevie, your talent deserves it.  _ You  _ deserve it. You should get to do this kinda stuff all the time, and if I could give it to you, I would. So you’re welcome.”

Steve and Bucky each leaned to knock the other’s shoulder at the same time, making them both laugh a little. But the heartfelt exchange seemed to color the moment, making them both feel profoundly close to one another as they walked. Bucky couldn’t resist putting his arm around Steve’s shoulders, giving him a rough little shake like he sometimes did, but keeping his arm on Steve. For his part, Steve had to fight the urge to snuggle in. He had visions of putting both arms around Bucky and squeezing, even as awkward as that would have made walking. But maybe they would even stop walking. Maybe they’d turn to each other, and Bucky would lean down and his lips would feel—

“Hey, only one more class left,” Steve blurted, and his words sounded thick and false.

“Yeah.  __ Gonna hafta find another group of people to get naked for. Or maybe I’ll just become one of those nudists and be naked all the time.”

“That’ll get real interesting in Brooklyn in February,” Steve muttered drily. 

Bucky began to be very aware of his arm across Steve’s shoulders as they walked, and thought that he really needed to let go. But he didn’t want to. What he wanted was to pull Steve closer, to feel Steve’s arms around him, too. As that thought occurred to him, he pulled his arm back sharply, taking a step away from Steve.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

“It seemed like somethin’ spooked you.”

“Nuts. Only thing scary out here is how dumb you are.”

Neither one of them believed Bucky, but Steve didn’t pursue it. He felt cool and exposed without the solid warmth of Bucky’s arm, and having him distance himself felt like a slap, but he knew it was for the best. He really needed to get a handle on these feelings. 

*  *  *

In the kitchen of their apartment, Steve and Bucky worked side-by-side to cut up yet another head of cabbage and put dinner together. At least they had hot dogs, which often served as the meat in their meals. Bucky noticed that Steve was being especially careful to keep some space between them, because Bucky was doing it, too. That was not like them. They touched all the time. On a normal night if they were cooking together, they’d have knocked into each other half a dozen times by now, and one would have put an arm on the other’s shoulder or a back occasionally to let him know he was behind him. There would’ve been a lot of joshing around. Not tonight. 

Tonight, they were almost shy with each other. It started to feel tense. By the time they were sitting down and eating, it had begun to feel like there was something huge and unspoken between them. Although each of them knew that there  _ was _ , neither could tell what the other was thinking. That was unusual for them, too, and it was uncomfortable.

“Hey, are you mad at me?” Bucky finally asked.

“Huh-uh. Why, what’d you do now?”

“I didn’t do anything, you’re just quiet. And weirder than normal.”

“I don’t mean to be, except  _ you’re _ bein’ weird. I thought maybe  _ you _ were mad at  _ me _ .”

“I ain’t mad at you. For once.”

Bucky’s impish grin and wink were so fucking cute Steve imagined launching himself across the table and tackling him to the floor. He realized with horror that he was a little hard. He looked away quickly and became absorbed with his plate.

Bucky knew Steve was lying. It was stupid, too, because it wasn’t like he could hide his feelings. He’d never been able to. But Bucky really couldn’t figure out what he’d done this time. Steve should’ve been over the moon at the moment, getting complimented by his hero the way he’d been. 

After a solid ten minutes of silence but for the clacking of cutlery on plates, they’d finished dinner and Bucky rose from the table. Steve followed. They gathered the dirty dishes and began the too-familiar ritual of washing up except, again, there was that uncomfortable distance, that too-careful way they were both behaving, and very little conversation. 

It hurt. It hurt because Bucky only wanted Steve to be happy, and somehow he’d messed that up, and he just wanted to make it right so Steve could enjoy his success. More than that, he wanted to grab Steve up in his arms and whirl him around in celebration, and then kiss him until he was breathless. And then he wanted to take him in the bedroom and pull his clothes off. He had to stop thinking about this stuff! Jeez, he’d already made himself go off once today, he should’ve been able to push these thoughts about Steve away!

“I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong,” Bucky finally snapped. “You oughtta be on cloud nine right now, what with Mr. Thomas thinkin’ you’re the next Leonardo da Vinci. So hows about you just tell me what I screwed up this time so we can get over it?”

“I told you, I’m not mad about anything!” Steve spat, now visibly annoyed. “You’re the one who’s being weird. Don’t put this on me.”

“Okay, fine. I’m being weird. Now I’m done being weird. I’m sorry I was weird. Now will you quit givin’ me the cold shoulder?”

“I’m not!”

Bucky handed Steve the last fork to dry, and used unnecessary force to wring the dishcloth out before tossing it back into the sink and leaving Steve alone to finish drying. He blew out a frustrated breath as he crossed the small room toward the sofa.

“Don’t just walk away from me, Bucky Barnes. You know I hate it when you do that. If you got somethin’ to say, just say it.”

“I don’t!” Bucky cried, lifting his arms in frustration. “Everything’s fine, except that you’re bein’ all quiet and you won’t come within five feet of me, and you won’t tell me why. How long I known you? You think I don’t know when you’re mad?”

“For the last time, I’m not mad! I’m not anything except sick of you tellin’ me I’m mad when I ain’t.”

“You are, too!”

“Don’t tell me how I feel!”

“Well, don’t tell me I’m the one being weird! Fuck, I don’t know what’s with us lately, we’re all over the place all the time. One minute we’re havin’ a hoot at the fair, and the next minute we’re at each other’s throats. I can’t take it, Steve! It’s drivin’ me nuts!”

Something changed in Steve then, like a taut wire had finally failed and the ends had gone flying in different directions, releasing something feral. He looked exactly like he always did just before he was about to mouth off to some bruiser and get them both into a fight. “You wanna know what the problem is? Do you really want to know what the problem is?”

“Hell, yes!”

Instead of answering,  Steve stalked across the room until he was standing directly in front of Bucky. He shoved Bucky, hard, placing both hands on his chest and putting his whole weight into it. Bucky staggered a step backward until the back of his knees hit the sofa and his legs folded, landing him in a sitting position. His stunned face was upturned to Steve, who followed the momentum from the shove so that he ended up leaning over Bucky with a hand on either side of his head, clutching the back of the couch.

And then he kissed Bucky. Hard.

The kiss was rough and cruel, not meant to hurt, exactly, but to end this painful charade once and for all. They both knew what they were talking about, damn it, and enough was enough. Years of frustration came out in the harsh contact, teeth knocking together and Steve practically biting at Bucky’s lips with his own. There was nothing pleasant or pleasurable about it; Steve was making his point in the most direct, forceful way he knew how.

As soon as he realized what he was doing, what he’d done, a firestorm of adrenaline shot through Steve and he moved to jerk upright, away from Bucky.

Except that Bucky didn’t let him.

Instead, Bucky’s hand whipped out, lightning-fast, to grab the front of his shirt. With that handful of fabric, he tugged Steve roughly back to him, slamming their mouths together again. This time, it was Bucky’s lips that devoured Steve’s, uncontrolled and demanding.

But not cruel.

Instead, Bucky’s kiss was softer, more like a real kiss than an argument-ending physical assault. It was as uncontrolled as Steve’s had been, except that it wasn’t fueled by anger, but by something equally primal and strong that demanded, rather than argued. Steve knew that from the gasping moan that escaped Bucky’s throat as he tilted his head, pulling at Steve’s shirt in a needy plea for him to get closer.

He felt Bucky’s other hand on his hip, pulling him forward. Although the pressure Bucky used was insistent, Steve might have been able to resist had he not been rocked to his core by what was happening, and weak-kneed already from the feeling of Bucky’s mouth on his. He let his knees bend, his weight following Bucky’s direction, and half-fell, half-sat onto Bucky’s legs, straddling him.

“Buck, what are you—” Steve tried to gasp, pushing against Bucky’s shoulders with his hands even as he used his legs to pull his hips forward until his groin was fully slotted up against Bucky’s.

“You fucking dumbass,” Bucky groaned into his mouth, letting go of the front of Steve’s shirt to wrap his arm around his shoulders. With the other, he pressed their lower bodies together.

“Are you sure you wanna-“

“It’s  _ all _ I wanna do. Shut up.”

With that, Bucky’s tongue was in Steve’s mouth, something that Steve had never experienced with anyone. It was foreign, and invasive, intimate in the extreme, yet somehow Steve’s tongue knew exactly what to do to make it even more so. He let out an involuntary groan that seemed to come from deep in his pelvis.

There was no pretense anymore, no frustration or anger, just need, pure and simple and all-consuming. Time stopped as they sat, clinging to one another as their mouths came together, again and again, filthy and hot and perfect.

Long moments later, a flash of consciousness shot through Steve and he pulled his hands from around Bucky’s neck to push weakly against his shoulders. “Buck, I’m sorry, I—"

“Shut up,” Bucky whispered into Steve’s mouth, smoothing a hand with exquisite gentleness over Steve’s hair. “Please shut up.” It was the neediest, most desperate sound Steve had ever heard Bucky make.

And suddenly, their kisses took on a completely different character. Bucky’s hand was in Steve’s hair, cradling his head softly, not pulling or pressing, but keeping Steve right where he wanted him. Right where Steve wanted to be. He followed Bucky’s lead, softening his lips and moving them more slowly, pulling at Bucky’s mouth again and again with his own as he emitted a whimper he couldn’t have controlled even if he’d known it was coming.

He had very little experience in kissing, and Bucky had a lot, but it seemed like just following his instincts was working okay. Steve could feel that Bucky was actually trembling a bit, and he didn’t see how Bucky could fake that, or why he’d want to. Besides, straddling his lap like he was, Steve could feel Bucky’s hardness, and he couldn’t be faking that.

Another eternity passed, filled with that sweet-hot, exquisitely arousing exploration and experimentation that spoke volumes with every kiss, every sweep of a tongue, every soft gasp. Bucky began to rock his hips into Steve as he pressed their lower bodies together, making Steve think the top of his head was going to blow off. He’d never felt anything remotely as good, and he registered a tiny worry in the back of his mind that he was gonna go off right here, just like this, simply from the fact that Bucky was hard, too, because of  _ him _ . Judging from the way Bucky was kissing him, he thought maybe Bucky might not mind so much.

That thought was underscored when Bucky lowered his hand until it was under Steve’s ass and shifted their weight, twisting as he laid Steve down on his back. He never stopped kissing, just changed their position so that now he was leaning over Steve, weight on one elbow. 

Bucky pulled his hand slowly from Steve’s hair, sliding it forward until he had a thumb under Steve’s jaw and his fingers touching his cheek. Then he slowly backed off, stopping those delicious, obscene things he’d been doing to Steve with his tongue and eventually lifting his lips from Steve’s, although keeping their foreheads together. Steve found himself lifting his chin to follow Bucky’s mouth with his own, deeply unwilling for the contact to be broken. When their mouths parted, both were panting for breath.

“Stevie, shit. Is that— Have you been wantin’ to do that, too?”

Bucky could feel Steve’s surprise in the slight stiffening in his body and the hitch in his breathing. “You mean it’s not just me?”

Bucky chuckled softly and Steve thought he might just die of love from that sound alone. 

“No, pal. It ain’t just you, and if you didn’t know that before, I guess you know it now.”

“Buck… are you—”

“Don’t you dare ask me if I’m messin’ with you. I would never. Not about this.”

For the first time in either of their memories, Steve was speechless. He pulled back a little, so Bucky lifted his head until they could see each other clearly, but got no further away. He ran two fingers lightly down Steve’s cheek, feeling the skin he’d ached to touch for so long, gazing down at Steve as if he’d never seen him before and couldn’t believe he was real.

“You’re so pretty, Steve,” Bucky almost whispered. “You just about glow with it. You’re just – Everything about you, I just wanna kiss you and hold you, and do other stuff I don’t even got words for. Don’t you know that, Stevie? Don’t you know how pretty you are?”

Steve dropped his eyes, beginning to shake his head. Bucky used his fingers under Steve’s chin to make him look back up.

“Hey. Don’t do that. I ain’t makin’ fun, and I ain’t lyin’. I think you’re beautiful, Steve, always have since I knew how to feel that stuff.”

“Honest?”

“’Course, honest. Use your brain, genius. Don’t I look like I mean it? Don’t I feel like I do?” With that, Bucky rubbed his crotch against Steve’s thigh to make his point. 

“Yeah, I guess so. So… what do we do now?”

For a moment, Bucky didn’t answer. The look on Steve’s flushed face, hopeful and terrified and kiss-drunk, made Bucky want to pull their legs up onto the sofa so he could get back to doing what he’d been half-crazed with wanting to do for so long.

But it was the naked trust in Steve’s open expression that made him sit up, instead, pulling Steve with him. Steve’s pained sound of desperation mirrored his own emotions.

“Steve, now  _ nothin _ ’. Come on, you know that even better’n me.”

Steve’s cousin had been arrested for homosexual activity and was locked up in a sanitarium in Younkers. The “treatment” for his “mental illness” was estrogen injections and some kind of shock therapy that had sickened Steve when he heard about it. Those things, and the endless sessions with psychiatrists, had succeeded only in making him sick and suicidal. But the terms of his plea deal with the court stated that he couldn’t be released until he was “cured.”

“Bucky, I can’t just stop feelin’ this way! I’ve tried, believe me I’ve tried, but you’re under my skin!”

“I know that!” Bucky spat, more loudly than he intended, as he stood up quickly and strode to the window, trying to put some distance between himself and his feelings. “Ain’t I just been kissin’ on you, too? But it’s impossible, and it’s  _ wrong _ , and we just gotta get over it. Otherwise, we can’t be friends.” Bucky turned back toward him, tears in his eyes. “And that’d be even worse than wantin’ what I can’t have. Don’t do that to me, Steve. Please.”

Steve gazed up miserably from where he sat, hunched over on the edge of the sofa. “I got all these feelings for you Bucky, and sometimes it gets so bad I think I might go crazy with it. Now you’re tellin’ me you feel like that, too, and it’s the most impossible thing that could ever happen but it’s everything I ever wanted. I  _ know  _ it’s wrong, but dammit that’s so unfair!”

“Well, there’s nothin’ we can do about it. That’s just the way it is. There’s no way I’m gonna see you end up like your cousin. I’ll deal with blue balls forever before I let that happen.”

“I know,” Steve moaned, head in his hands. “I know. I’m not gonna be the reason you get locked up, either.” It took him a few moments to pull himself together enough to speak again.

“I’m sorry I kissed you. I swear I won’t do it again,” Steve promised, each word taking an unspeakable amount of effort to choke out. He looked up, pleading through watery eyes. “Just tell me we’re not gonna stop bein’ friends. I can’t give you up. I told you, you’re the best thing in my life.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky assured him, his voice more gentle now. None of this was Steve’s fault. “That’s not gonna happen. We just gotta forget about all this.”

Bucky looked at Steve imploringly, chin down and eyes wide, willing him to accept the inevitable. Steve gulped down a sob and gave a small nod that tore a part of Bucky’s heart right out of him.

“But I’ll tell you one thing.”

“What’s that?” Steve asked glumly.

“I ain’t gonna be sorry I got to kiss you. I’m takin’ that memory to my grave.”

With that, Bucky trudged his way toward the door, picking up his keys on the way. 

“Where are you going?”

“’M goin’ for a walk. I just need to get some air. Maybe look for a fight so I can punch someone.”

“You always holler at me for that.”

“Didn’t say I wanted to  _ get _ punched. I want to do the punching.”

Bucky’s sad smile as he turned toward the door broke Steve’s heart a little. But he was glad to have some time to himself to try to sort out the maze of thoughts and emotions whirling inside him.

*  *  *

It was well after midnight when Bucky returned. Steve was in bed, but hadn’t come anywhere near sleep. He didn’t move or say anything as Bucky undressed in the dark, or when he returned from the bathroom and settled heavily into his bed. Steve was a little surprised not to smell booze or perfume on him, and wondered where he’d gone. He didn’t ask. It was enough that Bucky was here now. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tear that escaped to run down his cheek to his pillow. That was always going to have to be enough. 

Except for one thing. 

He’d spent every moment since Bucky had left the apartment re-living every tiny aspect of those glorious kisses. He didn’t even try to stop himself, because it was hopeless, anyway, and the memory was just too damn good. He didn’t even care that his balls were acutely tender and felt like they weighed ten pounds each. He’d gotten to kiss Bucky and Bucky had kissed him back, and then he’d said that it would be a cherished memory. So Steve was damn well gonna cherish the memory, too. 

But there was one last thing he had to do. It hadn’t even taken any thought, really, to know he had to do it. No part of him resisted the idea. In fact, now that Bucky was home, and Steve was still awake, he found himself completely unable to wait one more second before he sat up and threw back the covers.

He could see the glint of Bucky’s open eyes in the darkness, watching him. Bucky was lying on his back, one hand behind his head, shirtless like he always slept when it was warm enough. 

Steve took the two steps between their narrow beds and sat down on the edge of Bucky’s, facing him. 

“You sick or somethin’?” Bucky murmured softly.

“No. I just gotta tell you somethin’.”

“If it’s about what we talked about before—”

“Please,  Bucky, listen to me. I know there’s nothin’ I can do about the way I feel. We’ll never bring it up again, and it’ll be like nothing ever happened. I accept that. There’s just one thing, and I can’t go through the rest of my life without sayin’ it. Please. Let me?”

“Okay, Stevie,” Bucky sighed deeply. “What is it?”

“Buck, I— I think you’re perfect. I know it don’t matter, and no one’ll ever know, but I need  _ you _ to know, ‘cause I don’t think you think you’re worth much sometimes. But me… to me you’re everything."

Bucky sat up, sliding up the bed a bit so that he could see Steve’s expression in the dark. 

“You’re so much more than just some handsome fella who’s smooth with girls,” Steve continued in that quiet, determined voice that told Bucky he was speaking directly from his heart. “You’re so good, and generous, and nobody ever had a better friend than you. You’re a pain in the ass and you make me laugh more’n anybody ever has. I feel better every day just knowin’ I get to see you, and when I feel bad, no one can get me through it like you. Even when things are good, nothin’s half as good unless you’re there to share it, and I just— I know I ain’t good for much, but there’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you, to make you happy or keep you safe.”

Steve took a deep, shuddering breath, looking into Bucky’s moist eyes as well as he could in the dark room. “That’s it. I just had to say it. I got these queer feelings, and you are disgustingly handsome, but that’s not why I got ‘em. I got ‘em because you’re you. ‘Cause you’re worth everything. And I needed you to know.”

Steve breathed out a tiny sigh, satisfied with a job done, and began to stand, but Bucky gently put a hand on his arm and whispered, “Wait.”

Steve sat back down and watched Bucky try to calm his racing heart and slow his whirling thoughts enough to put words to his overwhelming feelings. Tears were running down both their cheeks now.

“Me, too. All’a that. Me, too.  And I know you don’t like how you look, but I do. Please believe me about that. I wouldn’t care if you weren’t good-lookin’, but you  _ are _ , Steve. You’re pretty as hell. It’s funny, ‘cause you’re such a shit, but you make me feel like I’m worth somethin’. And if you really think that, then maybe it’ll mean somethin’ to know that I… I love you.”

“What?”

“I love you, Steve. And I’ve never said that to anybody before. I never felt like I feel for you.”

Now it was Steve who couldn’t speak for his shock. 

“I think about you all the time,” Bucky said, taking Steve’s hand in his. “Everything I do, every decision I make, there I am, thinkin’ ‘Is Stevie gonna like this, or am I gonna get clobbered?’ Or I’ll just think about stuff you do, or say, and, I don’t know— You’re a part of me. The best part of me. And that’s what  _ I  _ need  _ you  _ to know.”

For a long moment, the two men sat in the darkness, holding hands and simply looking into one another’s eyes. It was a lot like holding their breath. They both knew that once the moment was broken, it would never come back. It couldn’t.

“I love you, too, Buck,” Steve whispered, awestruck. “I always will.”

They leaned forward until their foreheads touched, a tear or two from each falling onto Bucky’s sheets. Then they tipped their faces toward one another, and shared one long, sweet kiss. 

Then Steve stood and moved slowly, like an automaton, back to his own bed. They both slid under the covers and shifted a bit, trying to get comfortable. 

It was enough. It was enough, because it was all there could ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of Steve's method of ending a dumb argument? Our poor boys. Please comment and let me know what you think, or come say hi on Tumblr!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the last art class, Steve reveals his drawing, and the drawing reveals Steve's feelings. Bucky's not an artist, so he has to find another way to show Steve that he feels the same way.

* * *

“Last art class,” Bucky noted as he walked next to Steve through the warm Brooklyn afternoon toward the former gallery where the class was held. “You gonna be sad when it’s over?”

Steve hummed as he thought about that, trying to decide how to answer. The fact was, he was very sorry that his time learning from Wilson Thomas was coming to an end. It had been an opportunity he could never have imagined he’d have, and one that had more than lived up to its promise. Mr. Thomas had turned out to be quite a good instructor, generous with information and advice, if not lavish with praise. Steve actually valued his opinion more highly for that, because he knew that Mr. Thomas didn’t simply pour out meaningless compliments. When he offered a word of praise, he meant it. 

It had also been an unexpected bonus that he was able to share the experience with Bucky. Steve’s natural tendency was to be shy about the praise Mr. Thomas had given him. He would hold it in his heart like a precious secret flame, privately enjoying the warmth of the compliments for years to come, all the time questioning whether they were truly deserved. Bucky, on the other hand, would crow about Mr. Thomas’s praise of Steve’s work. Anytime he commented favorably on Steve’s drawing, Bucky would be sure to bring it up on their walk home, slapping Steve on the back and saying some fiercely proud version of, “I told you so.” He didn’t just forget it after that either; Bucky brought the compliments up at other times. He reminded Steve of them, making it clear to Steve that he had no reservations about whether they were deserved.

But Bucky was also the reason Steve was struggling with his response. Because he could only tell Bucky half the truth.

“Yeah, I’ll be real sorry when it’s over. I still can hardly believe I got to take an art class with Wilson Thomas.” Bucky smiled happily and Steve, reading his mind, added, “Thank you, Bucky. This class, it’s probably one of the best things I’ve ever gotten to do.”

“You’re welcome, pal,” Bucky responded, giving Steve a cheerful shove.

Only Steve and Bucky could have known how telling that response had been. In any other situation, talking about anything else, Bucky would have made some crack. Would have teased him that the best thing Steve had ever gotten to do was to stare at him naked for hours. 

Not now. Not after the conversation they’d had after the last class.

The truth was, Steve was equal parts relieved and disappointed. He wanted very much to stare endlessly at Bucky’s body, and that was exactly the problem. Since he wasn’t allowed to want that, he had to fight his overwhelming desire every moment, without letting anyone see that he was struggling. It was exhausting. He was glad he wasn’t going to have to do that anymore, but he was terribly sorry his time studying Bucky’s body in minute detail was coming to an end. He was going to have to make enough memories during this last class to last him for a lifetime. The only way he knew to do that was to make this drawing some of his best work, and he intended to do exactly that. 

Bucky’s feelings were very similar. After that first week, he’d made sure to “clean his rifle” before class so that he could keep his body under control, no matter how Steve looked at him. But today, he’d had to work all day, and Steve had made it home before him. He realized with a sigh that it probably wouldn’t matter tonight. Nothing was going to happen between him and Steve. Not ever. Although he was still as attracted to Steve as he’d ever been, that knowledge sat heavy and cold in his gut, making any amorous feelings pretty unlikely at the moment. 

“You’re gonna let me see your drawing afterwards, right?” Bucky asked. “Last week, you wouldn’t let me.”

“Yeah, sure. When it’s finished. After class is over.”

They reached the gallery just as Mrs. Carlyle and another of the women from the class were being helped out of a car by a uniformed chauffeur. Mrs. Carlyle called cheerfully out to them and Steve and Bucky waited as the ladies approached the door. Steve held the door open for them and they all entered the front reception area for the last time to find Mr. Thomas, speaking with one of the male students. 

Bucky greeted Mr. Thomas before pulling at his suspenders with a cheeky grin and saying, “I’ll just go put on my uniform.”

Steve was in too melancholy a mood to blush as he normally would have. In the week since he had kissed Bucky and they had admitted their feelings to each other, he’d thought of little else. He’d always thought it was his worst fear that Bucky would learn Steve loved him and reject him. Now he knew there was something worse: to know that Bucky loved him back. Miraculously, impossibly, wonderfully, wanted him. Because any kind of romance with Bucky was still as far away as it had ever been, only now he knew that it could have been possible. If only. 

Bucky was usually a bit amused as he entered the gallery’s little restroom to pull off his street clothes and don his bathrobe. Modeling nude had been a lark, and he’d enjoyed every minute of it. He was still going to enjoy it tonight, but the enjoyment would be much more bland without the sexy hidden danger of his feelings for Steve. He certainly still had those feelings – much more strongly now that he knew Steve shared them. But that made it absolutely imperative that he never again indulge them. Because knowing that Steve wanted him the way that he wanted Steve simply made it too painful when there was no hope. He pulled the tie of his robe tight and opened the door to pad out into the gallery space.

Mr. Thomas only spoke for a short time before guiding Bucky back into his pose and getting the students back to work on their final drawings. As always, he wandered around, scrutinizing the work and offering comments here and there. Bucky settled in, knowing that he was going to be holding this pose for the better part of the next two hours. Since it was a fairly natural pose, and a warm June evening, he was comfortable and quickly started to become bored. Steve had seemed to get into his dreamy drawing state early, concentrating deeply and largely unaware of his surroundings, which meant that Bucky couldn’t even catch his eye to make faces at him. It made for a long first hour.

Again at the break, Steve refused to let Bucky see his drawing. “It’s not done,” he complained, pushing Bucky’s hand away as he tried to lift the page covering it. 

“I never seen you get weird about your drawings not being finished before.”

“Just… shut up and let’s get some of that coffee.”

With that, Steve pulled on the sleeve of Bucky’s robe, practically dragging him toward the reception area, where Mr. Thomas offered a pot of coffee for anyone who wanted some. Everyone but Mr. Thomas tended to walk around and stretch, not having moved much over the past hour. That meant small, informal groups of students said a few words to each other as they approached, then moved away. It was always a short break, no more than ten minutes, so there wasn’t time for much socializing, anyway.

Steve and Bucky both said a few polite words to Mrs. Carlyle, and Bucky also made a point of saying hello to Mrs. Cadwallader, mostly just to make her uncomfortable. To her credit, though, she did say a perfectly pleasant hello back, and greeted Steve, as well, before moving off to exchange some quiet words with one of the other ladies. 

It was when they were standing sipping their coffee, just making casual comments to one another, that Bucky noticed Mr. Thomas looking oddly at him and Steve. He couldn’t identify the look on his face. It wasn’t critical or negative in any way, just thoughtful and perhaps tinged with a bit of sadness. He couldn’t imagine what that was about, and when Thomas caught him looking, he simply looked away from them. Bucky nudged Steve.

“Hey, Mr. Thomas was just lookin’ at us a little weird. Why do you s’pose that is?”

Steve looked over at where one of the gentlemen in the class had joined Mr. Thomas for a moment. He shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe you’re imaginin’ it.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just sad he’s gonna miss out on seein’ me naked every week.”

Steve rolled his eyes and blew out his breath dramatically. “Man, oh man, you got a swelled head. But maybe he’ll let you model again sometime. Might even wanna do a drawing of you.”

“Yeah, well he’s payin’ me next time,” Bucky smirked. “It ain’t as easy as it looks, just sittin’ there bein’ art.”

Steve shoved Bucky’s shoulder just as the instructor called out that break time was over. 

The last hour of the class was a blur for Steve. He wanted his drawing to be as complete as he could make it in the time he had, so that Mr. Thomas could see as much of his work as possible, and hopefully comment. He tried not to think about the other reason he was nervous.

As Wilson Thomas made his final circuit of the students’ work, Steve realized that his would be last. He was glad. It gave him that much more time to perfect it.

Bucky could see that Steve was anxious. He was nervous much of the time, and he couldn’t always say why. But it seemed pretty obvious that right now, Steve was working hard to make the best possible impression on Mr. Thomas and hoping for a few more of the kind comments Steve treasured like rare gems. Bucky hoped he’d get them. He deserved them. 

Finally, with about five minutes left of the class, Wilson Thomas approached Steve’s easel, standing just behind him to study his drawing. Steve blushed bright red and actually dropped his pencil. He reached down for it, knocking into the easel as he straightened back up so that Mr. Thomas had to reach out quickly to keep it from toppling over. 

“Careful, Mr. Rogers. Did you hurt yourself?”

Steve brushed his hair out of his eyes with a pained expression. “No, sir. Not at all. Sorry.”

Bucky, watching all of this, thought Mr. Thomas actually seemed a little nervous himself, and he wondered whether that could be right. If it was, what did he have to be nervous about? He chose his words to Steve very carefully, but then, he always did. It was a long, tense moment for both Bucky and Steve before he spoke.

“Yes,” he hummed to himself, a bit distractedly, as he studied Steve’s drawing. “This is the work I expected from seeing your portrait of Mrs. Carlyle.”

“Do you—” Steve knew he shouldn’t ask, but he absolutely couldn’t help himself. “Do you like it?”

Surprisingly, Mr. Thomas answered. “Yes. I do. Your drawing of Mr. Barnes is full of… feeling. It’s stirring.”

Steve felt his heart give a nauseating lurch at the words, but for once he ignored it. He simply wasn’t going to allow himself to have heart trouble right now, that’s all. The entire world felt unreal as the words reverberated in his head. Wilson Thomas,  _ the  _ Wilson Thomas, had called his drawing “stirring.” That was high praise. And it mattered so much more because it was this drawing, in particular. This drawing that was so important to him because… well. He didn’t have room in his glitching mind to think about why right now. 

“Th- Thank you, sir. I’m honored.”

The room had gone even quieter than it had been as they were drawing. Every eye was looking at Steve and Wilson Thomas. None of them had missed the shockingly complimentary words, and it made them all curious to see the drawing that had received such an accolade. As if Steve needed another shock, Mrs. Cadwallader – of all people – chimed in, her tone as uncertain as he had ever heard it. “Wilson, I wonder if it would be appropriate to ask Mr. Rogers to share his drawing with us?”

Thomas looked inquiringly at Steve. “It’s entirely up to you, son.”

Steve blushed even harder and gave a slight shrug of deeply uncomfortable acquiescence. He stared at the floor and tucked his chin, raising his shoulders and wrapping his arms around himself. He looked to Bucky as if he was trying to disappear inside his own torso. Without thinking about it, Bucky stood up and took his robe from the stool where he’d been sitting on it. What the hell, there were only a few minutes of class left, anyway. He pulled on his robe as he crossed to where Steve was hunching as if in self-defense while the rest of the class moved curiously toward his easel. Reaching him, Bucky put an arm around his shoulders and squeezed, giving him a reassuring grin. 

And then he saw Steve’s drawing for the first time. 

For a moment, he was unable to do anything, even blink, as he stood taking it in. He fought the instant urge to go and pull the cover sheet down over it, and maybe run somewhere to hide it. Of course he was nude in the drawing, but this was exponentially more…  _ revealing _ than even the most intimate drawing Steve had ever done of him before. Although his pose wasn’t in the least suggestive or erotic, the drawing  _ was _ . 

Harold Hopkins, one of the men who always wore a suit to the class, and whose easel was next to Steve’s in the circle, was the first to comment. “Hey, that’s some drawing, Steve!” Clapping him on the back, he said, “Sheesh. It’s kinda—” he cut himself off, looking sheepishly at ladies crowded on Steve’s other side, gaping with open appreciation at the drawing.

“What?” Bucky demanded, suddenly ready to do battle on Steve’s behalf. “What is it kinda?”

“Well… dishy,” Harold said, his expression clearly expressing approval and a bit of surprise. He looked at Steve, red-faced and trying his best to be invisible, as though he was trying to figure out how such a skinny, gawky kid could have created such a provocative drawing. Bucky relaxed and went back to his astonished marveling.

Steve was suddenly afraid that his artwork was obscene, but when he dared look around, even he couldn’t see anything but approval in the faces gathered before his easel. A few of the ladies looked a bit taken aback by the picture, but no one appeared shocked or offended, and no one was looking away. The only comments and murmurs were all of congratulations and commendation. 

The drawing was simply beautiful. Steve had drawn Bucky as he looked there in the gallery, young and handsome with muscles developed from hard work, but the soft lines he’d used made it seem as though he’d dreamed him. Technically, the drawing was superb, but it was the mood of the piece that was most striking. The man in the picture was somehow more than perfect, more than beautiful, more than  _ human _ in the way he almost glowed with life and strength. His expression was part of the spell. His exquisitely lovely angel’s face was nonetheless full of rascally amusement, with just enough lust in it to suggest that his nudity and flattering pose were part of a seduction.

“Oh, Steven,” Mrs. Carlyle gushed. “It’s just marvelous! I agree with Wilson. It’s quite stirring, and yes,” she giggled a little, “stirring in the way Mr. Hopkins suggests.”

Some of the other ladies tittered with her, and even Mrs. Cadwallader appeared to agree.

The two artist types among the men both congratulated Steve on his achievement. One of them, whose name was Jasper, elbowed Bucky in the side with a wink as he moved away to take his own drawing from his easel. Bucky wasn’t sure what that meant, but it seemed friendly enough. 

Steve mumbled thanks as best he could in his current overwhelmed state, and accepted the compliments and congratulations of the others in the class, as well. One of the women held a prim hand to her bosom and said, “Well, young man, you’ve certainly made your  _ friend  _ look… attractive.”

Steve simply gulped and thanked her as he had the other students. Bucky, on the other hand, suddenly thought he understood why the artist type had elbowed him, and why he felt the need to hide the drawing. It was the same reason he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it and had, at some point, started gripping Steve’s shoulder. Why he felt suddenly anxious for the class to end and to get out of there. Why Mr. Thomas had been looking at them as he had, and had been so very careful what he said about Steve’s picture.

“I’m gonna go get dressed,” Bucky said a little too loudly, stepping quickly away from Steve and practically running to the little bathroom to put his clothes back on.

By the time Bucky returned, about half the students had left, and the others were in the front reception area saying their goodbyes to Wilson Thomas. As much as he wanted to get Steve out of there before someone said something or got any ideas, Bucky needed a minute more before he would be ready to put his mask of nonchalance back on. Without really planning it, Bucky started folding up the easels sitting askew in a now quite lopsided circle and stacking them against a wall where some others were leaning. He put the stool near them, not knowing where it belonged, and then looked around the room one last time. He grinned a little to himself at the fact that he’d spent the better part of ten hours naked in this room surrounded by a bunch of other people drawing him. But he was a bit too anxious to enjoy it as much as he otherwise would have. 

All eyes turned to Bucky as he appeared in the reception area, where only Mr. Thomas, Steve, and the artist-type guy named Jasper were still talking. Steve still looked a little bewildered by all that had happened over the last part of the class. 

“Mr. Thomas, I stacked all the easels for you,” Bucky said cheerily, trying to cover his nervousness. “Is there anything else you need me to do before we go?”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes, that was quite kind of you. You two, uh—” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Go ahead home.”

Steve’s smile was shy as he moved his drawing pad from under his right arm to his left and held out his hand to Mr. Thomas. “Thank you again, sir, for everything. It was an honor getting to learn from you, and I’ll never forget it.”

Mr. Thomas looked fondly but gravely at Steve as he shook his hand. “The honor was mine, Mr. Rogers.” He looked from Steve to Bucky. “I’m quite glad that Bitsy Carlyle recommended you to me, Mr. Barnes. You’ve been an excellent model. And I’m pleased that you asked for Mr. Rogers to be included in this class. I wish you both good fortune.”

With that, Bucky shook hands with Mr. Thomas and herded Steve toward the door. Jasper said a final goodbye to Mr. Thomas and stepped out the door with them. 

“Goin’ our way?” Bucky asked Jasper.

“Nah, I’m meeting some people down the street,” Jasper answered, waving a hand in the opposite direction. “Thanks again for modeling, Bucky. I’ve done a little of it and I know it’s not exactly a gas.”

“No sweat. It was okay.”

“And congratulations again on your drawing, Steve. It really is remarkable. You got serious talent. I’d hate you if you weren’t so cute.” Jasper winked at Steve.

Steve just blinked stupidly at him while Bucky felt the pieces suddenly fall into place. He wasn’t surprised to hear Jasper go on.

“Listen, though, a word to the wise. You wanna be careful who you show it to. I hate like hell to say that, with how good it is. It belongs in a bloody museum. But what’s good about it is what’ll get you in trouble. It ain’t safe for us if the wrong people know, and anybody with half an eye will look at it and see how it is between you two.”

Bucky simply nodded. What could he possibly say?

“I think Thomas was a little concerned, too,” Jasper continued. “I’m pretty sure that’s why he was kinda jittery. He likes you, kid. Doesn’t wanna see you get hurt. People seem to be happy to ignore it in artists, if they’re successful enough. I mean, they say he’s been with his fella for years. But for the rest of us…” He didn’t need to finish that thought, at least for Bucky.

With that, Jasper gave a casual wave as he turned around. “Anyway, I gotta go. See ya’,” he called over his shoulder and began walking down the street away from them. Steve and Bucky called their goodbyes after him.

“I don’t— What’s he talking about, ‘it ain’t safe for us’?” Steve demanded, perplexed.

Bucky pulled in a big breath and turned toward home, letting it out as he took the first few steps. When Steve fell into step beside him, Bucky said quietly, “Queers, Steve. He thinks we’re… you know… a couple.”

Steve made a strangled sound and his steps stuttered. “Why? How could he—”

“Because your drawing is— It’s incredible, Steve. It’s beyond incredible, it’s… astounding even. But when he said that what’s good about it is what’ll get you in trouble? He meant that you drew me like you… like you wanna…”

“Oh, no—” Steve whimpered.

“It’s all right, Steve,” Bucky said, laying a soothing hand on his arm as they walked. “Nobody in the class said anything, or even looked like they might. They pretended all they saw was art, because that’s all they wanted to see. Just… don’t worry about it. Just worry about what you’re gonna do with all that talent you got.”

With a little shake of Steve’s arm, Bucky let it go and they very deliberately changed the subject. But both of them were preoccupied for the entire walk home. 

Steve was horrified. What had he done? He’d only meant to pour out his love for Bucky in his drawing, the only way he would ever be able to do it. He’d never imagined that anyone else would be able to see it. A small part of him wanted to be proud of that but, at the moment, he was too afraid. 

At least Bucky didn’t seem upset with him. In fact, just the opposite. He didn’t seem to be able to praise Steve’s drawing enough. That was a relief, because even though he clearly remembered every kiss and every word of their conversation the week before, it was still almost impossible for Steve to believe that any of it had happened. Yet Bucky seemed to welcome the feelings that had apparently showed plainly in his work. Steve stole another look at him. Bucky knocked him with his shoulder, reassuring him without words that nothing had changed. That Bucky, at least, wasn’t afraid. 

Bucky noticed about a block from the squat brick tenement they lived in that some sort of mood seemed to be brewing between them. Their comments had become fewer and less frequent until, by the time they reached their building, they weren’t talking at all. It felt like when they got on each other’s nerves and were working up to a shouting match, except that nothing like that was happening. As he preceded Steve up the stairs, Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to happen. Well, he supposed, they did need to discuss what to do about Steve’s drawing.

Once inside their apartment, they didn’t turn on any lights. They just sat down without a word, side by side on the edge of the worn, faded couch, like they did when they had something serious to discuss. For a few moments, they each waited for the other to say something, both in essentially the same position with their hands on their knees, looking down at the floor.

As anyone who knew them would have predicted, Steve was the one who found the courage to speak first, although he couldn’t look at Bucky as he murmured, “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable with that drawing, Buck. I didn’t mean to.”

“Jeez, Stevie, is that what you think? Think I’m mad or somethin’?” Bucky shifted on the sofa just enough to look at Steve. They weren’t touching, but their legs were only inches apart.

“I don’t know. Are ya’?”

“Hell, no, I ain’t! C’mon, Steve, how could anyone be mad at you for drawin’ ‘em like that? With so much—” Bucky’s voice faltered on the word.

Steve’s didn’t. “Love, Bucky,” he said simply. 

“Steve—” Bucky warned.

“I know how things are, I’m not an idiot. Nothin’s changed since we talked about this. But I just figured if I could never say it again, if I’d never get to see your body again, I wanted to remember it. So I was tryin’ to draw how I feel. I wanted to be able to look at it and know it was real. That you kissed me once, and told me you love me, too, even if you’re the only person who ever does. And I’m sorry everybody could see. I know that musta been awful for you, and I didn’t mean to.”

For the space of several breaths, Bucky just looked at Steve incredulously. There were two warring swarms of thought going through his head, making it impossible for him to articulate either one. He wished he could draw, so he could say it in a picture the way Steve had. 

“You don’t gotta say anything, Bucky. I know we can’t talk about this and I’m sorry I—"

“No. Stop. Don’t you say you’re sorry for bein’ so damn talented everybody can see exactly how you feel from your art. Don’t you apologize for that. I’m so fucking proud of you I wanna take out an ad on the front page of the Daily Eagle.”

Bucky’s blue eyes told Steve everything he needed to know about how sincere his words were, practically glowing with pride and boring into Steve’s own. Unconsciously, Bucky reached out and cupped a hand behind Steve’s neck, ensuring that he wouldn’t look away. His face was serious as he said, “You saw the way Wilson Thomas was lookin’ at your drawing, Stevie. You’re  _ great _ , and now you don’t hafta just take my word for it, or the word of everybody who ever sees your drawings. He’s a real artist, a regular big deal, and  _ he _ says so. That ain’t somethin’ to be sorry for.”

With that, Bucky pulled Steve closer and shifted his own body so that they faced each other more, with their knees and lower legs touching. He put a hand on the outside of Steve’s thigh. In that position, with one of Bucky’s hands holding the back of his neck and the other on his leg, Steve’s hands had nowhere to go but to rest on Bucky’s thighs.

Still looking into Steve’s eyes, Bucky continued. “And don’t you dare be sorry for that drawing, either. I don’t give a shit if people saw how you feel. I only care that you feel that way. Hell, Stevie, you can say the words all day long, but that picture? Don’t you get it? I look at that picture and I know you love me. And what’s more, that picture’s how _I_ feel about _you_! It’s how I’ve dreamed about you feelin’ for me, all this time, and ate my heart out ‘cause I thought you could never love me back. It’s everything I dreamed, Steve, so don’t say you’re sorry. Please. It’ll kill me.”

If Steve’s body wasn’t reacting to Bucky’s closeness and the ways they were touching, he would have had the mental capacity to be embarrassed at the wetness in his eyes. As it was, though, all he could do was look at Bucky with all the love he felt for him blazing nakedly in his face and say, “All right, Buck. Then I ain’t sorry. ‘Cause I do love you, and that’s what I was tryin’ to say in the drawing. How beautiful you are to me, and how much I…” Steve gulped. “How much I want you.”

Bucky sucked in his breath on a shiver. It was then that he realized the position they were in and, from there, it was the most natural thing in the world to lean forward, slowly, watching Steve’s eyes the whole time in case he objected and, when he didn’t, to kiss Steve’s full, pink lips. He kept the kiss soft and tender, in keeping with the feelings the drawing had evoked in him but, like the drawing, there was a deep undercurrent of desire in it, too. 

“Do you, Stevie?” Bucky whispered without lifting his lips from Steve’s. “Do you wanna touch me? ‘Cause just the thought of that— You got no idea.”

“Bucky, we can’t—”

“The hell we can’t,” Bucky growled. “The whole class thinks we are, anyway.”

When Steve stiffened and made to pull away, Bucky didn’t let him. “None of them are gonna say anything. Please, Steve. Let’s just… let’s just be together this one time.”

Steve didn’t object, but instead tilted his chin up to capture Bucky’s lips again. His kisses quickly became demanding as he slid as close to Bucky as he could, wrapping his arms around his neck. But he seemed to lose his nerve after a moment, pulling his mouth from Bucky’s to gasp, “I don’t— I never—”

“Me neither. Not with a guy. But you showed me how you feel with your drawing. Lemme take you to bed and show you how _ I _ feel. I know we can’t be together, not really, but please… I love you.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to take control of Steve’s mouth. Many increasingly heated kisses later, Steve had let Bucky lean back, resting against the back of the sofa and pulling Steve with him so that Steve was leaning against him. Steve’s hands were beginning to roam over Bucky’s sides and chest, and he was experimenting with his tongue. He’d never kissed anyone but Bucky that way, but he was determined to learn how. And when he found his fingers unbuttoning the first button on Bucky’s shirt, he felt Bucky’s grin beneath his lips. In a way he didn’t really understand, he could feel Bucky’s soft chuckle in his already-mostly-hard cock. 

They both knew Steve was done resisting. 

Bucky could hardly believe how good it felt just to have Steve’s hands unbuttoning his shirt. He relaxed against the sofa, stroking Steve’s back and running his fingers through his hair, greedily returning Steve’s fevered kisses. He began to worry when Steve moved to straddle his lap and began experimentally moving his kisses from Bucky’s lips to his jaw, and then tried a nuzzle under Bucky’s ear. It felt so good Bucky shivered and groaned, bucking up into Steve. He wondered how he was ever going to hold off until he could get Steve into bed. Because if this was the only night they were ever going to have together, he wanted everything.

Steve was shaking. He felt hot and cold, was sweating a little but had chills running up his spine, and every tiny movement of his hips shot lightning through him. He could easily have come just with a few well-placed thrusts against Bucky, but he didn’t want things to be over before they’d even begun. He shifted his hips back a little so that he could more easily reach Bucky’s neck with his mouth and so that he wouldn’t shoot off just from Bucky letting him kiss him like this. 

Bucky smelled good, the same way he always did, but this close and warm from getting worked up, it was both the same and wildly different. Steve moaned as he tried licking at Bucky’s Adam’s apple to see what that would be like. It was actually a little weird, so he kissed his way down Bucky’s neck, then up again at an angle until he found a delicious hollow where Bucky’s scent seemed especially concentrated and his skin was soft but just the slightest bit scratchy with five O’clock shadow. He spent a very long time there, licking and kissing and even biting a little. That was nice. He liked how it made Bucky hiss and try to pull Steve’s hips closer so he could rub against him. 

Steve had all the buttons of Bucky’s shirt undone, and Bucky had undone a few of his, too, when Steve sat up a little to push Bucky’s suspenders off his shoulders. Bucky looked up at him, eyes dilated so wide they almost didn’t look blue anymore, and something about the way he was reclined there, panting and just waiting for what Steve would do next, changed Steve’s mind. 

He shifted and shuffled awkwardly until he could stand, then reached out a hand. Bucky took it. Steve pulled him up from the sofa and, without a word, led him into their bedroom. He didn’t know why he closed the door – it wasn’t like there was anyone else in the tiny apartment – but it felt right and he didn’t question it. Immediately, they were chest to chest again, kissing deeply as Steve finally pulled Bucky’s suspenders out and down, letting them fall to his hips while he slid his hands inside Bucky’s shirt to push it from his shoulders. Bucky obediently shook it off his arms and let it fall to the floor. 

Steve’s arms were around Bucky then, hands splayed out across his back, while he did his best to kiss Bucky breathless. It was working, not least because Bucky was almost dizzy with the idea that the man whose mouth was making such insistent demands was  _ Steve _ – his Steve who was technically an inexperienced virgin but who was also apparently a born lover. He had Bucky entirely in his power already, even though Bucky could tell that he was barely in control himself.

Steve kept Bucky enthralled with deep, needy kisses while he reached a hand behind his neck and pulled his own shirt up, separating their lips only long enough to pull it over his head. Like Bucky’s, the shirt fell to the floor, forgotten, as Steve immediately resumed ravishing Bucky’s mouth. 

It was concern that his knees would give out that got Bucky to take a step, backing Steve toward his bed. Steve made a surprised sound that turned into a moan as the implication made its way into his fevered brain and he began to move, pulling Bucky with him until they both fell onto Steve’s narrow mattress. There wasn’t much grace about the way they quickly scrambled around until they were lying fully on the bed, on their sides facing each other. 

They hadn’t turned on any lights, so they hadn’t pulled the shade over the window. That meant that light from the streetlamp outside made it easy to see Steve’s wide eyes, his stunned expression. 

“You okay, Stevie?” Bucky murmured, lifting a hand to stroke Steve’s cheek. Unromantic as the thought was, it occurred to him to be a little concerned about how hard Steve was breathing.

“Yeah. I’m good. Just… um…” Steve faltered.

“Say it. It’s okay.”

Steve had never heard that sexy gravel in Bucky’s voice. It was almost more than he could stand, and he had to take a moment to let a full-body shiver pass before he could form words. “Can I…” he slid his hand from Bucky’s waist to his hip, letting it travel just the slightest bit forward to give Bucky the idea. 

Bucky found that adorable. He grinned and let out a low chuckle. “Can’t say it? Maybe I shouldn’t let you do it then.”

Predictably, Steve pulled back and lifted his chin, piqued just as Bucky had intended. “Well, if you don’t want me to, I guess I won’t.”

Bucky pulled Steve to himself and kissed him, humming a laugh as he did. Once he felt Steve relax against him again, laughing a little too, he took Steve’s hand and slowly, teasingly, brought it to his crotch.

“That what you wanted to do?”

Steve was too overwhelmed to answer beyond a half-strangled moan that would have been embarrassing if he’d been aware of it. He tried for a moment to continue kissing Bucky, but he simply couldn’t manage all the input at one time. Bucky seemed to feel the same, because he didn’t react when Steve let their lips part, sucking in a shuddering breath as he carefully, gingerly opened his hand to fully palm Bucky’s cock. 

Bucky could feel Steve trembling. His touch was tentative at first, learning the shape of Bucky’s erection through his pants, but he got the hang of things in no time and was soon stroking Bucky’s cock in a way that was too good to last. Bucky put a hand over Steve’s.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked quickly, alarmed that he’d done something wrong. 

“Not a damn thing, pal.” Bucky kissed Steve messily. “It’s just, you touching me, you and me finally here like this, it feels so good I’m not gonna be able to keep from shootin’ off, and I want this to last.”

In the light from the window, Bucky saw the wicked gleam in Steve’s eye as he resumed rubbing his hand over Bucky’s crotch. 

“Yeah, I know. Me, too. So I was thinkin’—” Steve’s hand slid up to Bucky’s belt. “Maybe we could go more than once. We could get each other off this first time, and then after that, we’ll be able to last longer.”

If Steve’s hand had still been on Bucky’s cock, it would’ve been over at that point. Bucky nearly gasped at Steve’s words, and the frankly carnal way he growled them. Suddenly, he was in bed with a Steve he’d never seen before, never dared dream he could be. Sure, he knew Steve was bossy, but he’d sort of expected that he’d be nervous and uncertain being in bed with someone for the first time. He was, a little, but it didn’t seem to be slowing him down much. He very quickly unbuckled Bucky’s belt and unbuttoned his pants.

“You better tell me now if you don’t like that idea.”

“No, I— yeah,” Bucky breathed, too overwhelmed by what was happening to do better. He knew he’d never been more helplessly aroused in his life. 

And then Steve had unzipped Bucky’s pants and was tugging them awkwardly down. Bucky lifted his hips, gasping yet again as he felt his cock spring free and looked down to see Steve pulling his pants off. Steve was stymied for a moment by Bucky’s shoes, but he simply flipped them off his feet with an impatient grunt while Bucky managed a chuckle, and finished sliding them off, taking Bucky’s socks with them. He tossed them carelessly to the floor and then roughly yanked at his own belt and practically tore his own pants off. Bucky was too busy looking at all that pale flesh to notice how Steve got his shoes and socks off. 

Steve was next to him again then, and they reached for each other hungrily. The feeling of their entire lengths against one another for the first time was astoundingly good as their mouths met again in deep, filthy kisses. Steve put a hand on the small of Bucky’s back and pulled their hips flush so that they could finally grind their cocks together. He cried out at the sensation, before Bucky smothered the cry with his mouth. 

“Shhhh, Stevie, we gotta be quiet,” he hissed, his voice strained with need. “Oh, shit— Fuck, Steve,” he moaned softly as their grinding became more obscene.

“Please, Buck, touch me,” Steve begged in a breathless whisper that Bucky practically swallowed.

He did what Steve asked, moving his hand from where he’d been clutching Steve’s hip to softly take Steve’s cock in his grip. Almost immediately, Steve was bucking into his grasp, slippery precome lubricating the strokes that seemed to come as second nature to Bucky. Steve wasted no time taking Bucky’s dick in his hand, too, and within a minute they were both stifling groans and fucking each other’s hands.

Steve came first, squeezing his eyes shut and looking as though he was almost in pain, head thrown back and mouth open in a silent scream. Bucky tried to wait until his was done, but it was hopeless. Feeling the hot spurts of Steve’s come on his hand and his own dick sent an irresistible jet of lightning through him and he was coming, clenching his lips closed to keep from shouting.

Steve forced himself to open his eyes, unwilling to miss the sight of Bucky at this moment. He’d imagined this sometimes, watching Bucky come, but the experience was exponentially better. He’d been able to imagine Bucky’s gorgeous expression of rapture, but he’d never experienced the feel of so much skin contact, or the sweaty heat and smell of sex. He couldn’t have known how Bucky’s mouth would taste, or the sounds he’d make. Somehow, both of them having come at almost the same time, his orgasm got mixed up with Bucky’s, and with the whole sensory experience, and Steve thought that he might drown in it all. 

It was several minutes before their breaths stopped hitching and they’d recovered enough to come back to the present. It was longer than that before their hearts stopped hammering in their chests.

Their faces were so close together on Steve’s pillow that, when Bucky finally opened his eyes again, they were almost too close to see each other clearly. Neither moved away, though. Instead, Steve leaned in and kissed Bucky softly. Bucky’s sweetly dazed grin when he pulled away sent a pang of love through Steve that was so strong it almost hurt.

“Buck, that… that was—”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s grin lazily widened. “And that was just for starters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's why the "explicit" rating and "slow burn" tag, y'all. Please comment and let me know what you think - I very much hope you're enjoying the story and the wait was worth it. You can also come say hi on Tumblr!


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys know that what they have is the real deal. They'll have to hide their love from most people, but there's never going to be anyone else for either of them. So they make a vow to one another: They're together 'til the end of the line.  
> (Chapter is like 95% smut, with a little discussion. So sue me.)

* * *

It was a while before either Steve or Bucky were capable of purposeful movement. Their limbs felt sluggish and heavy, so they lay there, foreheads together and legs entwined, arms tightly around each other as if they expected to be torn apart any moment. In part, that was necessary due to the narrowness of Steve’s bed, but mostly it was simply the position they’d both been aching to be in for years. 

Steve had certainly had orgasms before, but he’d never experienced the utterly spent and yet still aroused feeling he had now. All that kept him from starting again right away was the drowsy, fucked-out sound of Bucky’s occasional satisfied sighs and the fact that even at twenty-one he’d need at least a little while to recover. He felt Bucky glide a hand languidly up his flank and over his shoulder, to cup it underneath his chin and pull his lips to Bucky’s. 

This kiss was soft, reverent. Bucky took his time, worshipful and slow in the way he fit his lips to Steve’s, again and again. The occasional flicks with the tip of his tongue were more like tasting, as if Bucky was trying to memorize the exact shape and texture of Steve’s lips.

“Stevie…” Bucky murmured against his mouth, and Steve felt those inexplicable tears threaten again.

He certainly didn’t want to mess this up by letting himself get emotional. Bucky would call him a sap, and might even want to stop. Anyway, if Bucky didn’t need a break, neither did he, and that happy sighing of Steve’s name hadn’t just touched Steve’s heart, it had blown the coals of his desire into full flame again. He hugged Bucky to him, hard, and opened his mouth, claiming Bucky’s lips in an entirely different kind of kiss. Already his dick was filling again, and the need was beginning to heat his blood dangerously. When Bucky responded by following Steve’s lead, letting Steve plunder his mouth with his tongue and letting out a little whimpering moan, Steve lifted up and pulled at Bucky’s hip with the arm that was holding him. Bucky understood and, heedless of the cooling mess between them, slithered his hips underneath Steve’s. 

Their bodies seemed to fall naturally into position. Steve felt another full-body shudder, almost an orgasmic aftershock, as he settled his entire torso against Bucky’s and felt Bucky spread his legs to slot their groins together once again. He had no idea how many times he’d fought the idea of having Bucky naked underneath him in his bed. Now that it was actually happening, now that he could feel every bit of Bucky’s chest against his and rub his own half-hard cock against Bucky’s as fast or slow, hard or sinewy as he wanted, Steve knew he was born for this. Not just for fucking men, but for fucking _this_ man, whom he trusted with every ounce of his soul and loved more fiercely than he’d ever felt anything.

“Buck— You’re so fucking perfect. I wanna just— Ungh—” Steve panted, half grunting with his renewed thrusts. “Love you so much, Buck.”

“Wait. Stevie. C’mon, hold up a second,” Bucky whispered, out of breath again himself but burning with a want he’d never let himself fully face before. When Steve slowed his hips and lifted his face, Bucky was smiling roguishly at him. He’d been about to say something, but then an odd look flitted across his face and he suddenly found himself holding Steve’s face tenderly between his hands, looking up into those pretty eyes with the long, long lashes, and feeling a surge of love seeing that shock of blond hair that always fell down over Steve’s forehead.

“I love you. You’re the only one, Steve. There’s never gonna be anyone else for me.”

“Me, too, Buck.”

“I want… I want you to fuck me. I want it to be you.”

Steve’s eyes, heavy-lidded with lust, nonetheless widened at that. Bucky could feel what those words did to him in the pulse and movement of Steve’s dick against the inside of this thigh. He watched Steve swallow hard, mind laboriously trying to process what was happening, what Bucky was asking.

“I want that more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I don’t… I don’t really know how, though, Bucky. I won’t be very good for you.”

“Don’t be a dunce, dunce,” Bucky snickered through his hormone fog. “Can’t you feel how much I like everything you do?”

“Yeah, but, I mean— I could hurt you. I’ve read you gotta do it real careful, and—”

“Are you sayin’ you don’t wanna?”

Steve started to get those little frown lines between his eyes, like when he was thinking through a problem. “You know I wanna, jerk. Just got no idea what I’m doin’, and I just need a minute, is all.”

With that, Steve slid from on top of Bucky to stand next to the bed. Bucky caught his hand, concern evident in his face lit by the streetlamp outside. 

“It’s okay, Buck. I’m just gonna get us a washcloth and, um— Some Vaseline.”

The tremor that rolled through Bucky at that caused his dick to bob where it jutted up, now fully hard. “Yeah. I heard that’s a good idea,” he agreed, voice thin and shaky.

While Steve washed up in the bathroom, Bucky lay looking up at the ceiling, enjoying the delightful little shock waves of desire that went through him at the idea that he was about to go all the way with Steve. When he came back to the bedroom, Steve had a towel with him. He got Bucky to stand for a moment while he pulled back the soiled quilt, then laid the towel out and used soft caresses to guide Bucky to lay back down. With infinite care, he used a warm washcloth to wipe Bucky clean. 

Bucky closed his eyes, just letting himself drift in the glorious feeling of the warm cloth and Steve’s gentle touches. He startled just a bit when he felt the cloth brush softly against his hole. It felt a little shocking, maybe because he’d never been touched there before, and maybe because it was a prelude to what was about to happen. But that didn’t mean he was unsure about this. 

He wanted Steve to fuck him, wanted to give this virginity to Steve and no one else. Just the idea of being fucked at all got him going in a way nothing else did. But he still felt some trepidation that he was trying to pretend wasn’t there. 

He should have known Steve would see it easily.

“It’s okay, Buck. We won’t do anything you don’t wanna.” Steve dropped the washcloth to the floor and climbed back onto the bed where Bucky used his hands on his hips to pull him back on top of him. 

“I know. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.” Bucky spread his legs and adjusted his hips until he had Steve where he wanted him as he began kissing him again. Steve Rogers would talk this to death if he let him, and that was definitely not what Bucky wanted. Not now. Not when he had Steve naked and worked up, finally in bed with him after he’d dreamed about it for so long. 

It took very little time before they were writhing against one another again, hard and oozing precome onto their newly-clean skin. It was easier to let themselves enjoy the sensations this time, having come once, but it would still have been very easy to get carried away. Bucky, especially, was in danger of forgetting everything but the way Steve felt against him. In part, that was because he was drowning in the ecstasy of the way Steve had taken control. 

Although Steve was the one who was new to sex, that didn’t change his personality. Bucky complained about his bossiness all the time, but mostly because he liked to give Steve shit. The truth was, having Steve on top of him, directing their movements and already an expert at invasive, filthy kisses, was his deepest fantasy come to life. That’s why, when he felt Steve reach for the jar of Vaseline, he just waited breathlessly to see how he was going to go about this.

The metallic tink as he popped the lid was loud in the quiet room. Even though it wasn’t late, there didn’t seem to be any ambient noise from the street or the other apartments at the moment. When he had a generous fingerful of the oily goo, Steve slid his knees apart and scooted down until his hip was on the towel between Bucky’s legs. Bucky gasped with the dirty movement, which spread Bucky’s legs wide, one knee bent with Steve’s lower back resting against it and the other leg actually hanging off the narrow, single bed, foot resting lightly on the floor. 

Steve began to kiss Bucky’s chest, first lightly peppering everywhere he could easily reach, then a little more slowly, with a little wetness that made Bucky groan. As he did, Steve touched the inside of Bucky’s knee with the back of his hand, sliding it slowly and sensuously up the inside of his thigh. Besides being hot as fuck, it was reassuring, allowing Bucky to know exactly where that finger full of Vaseline was, and when it would be touching him. Steve took his time so that, by the time the back of his hand brushed lightly against his balls, Bucky was actually so ready that he bucked his hips up.

“Fuck, Steve—” he hissed.

And then Bucky felt just the lightest, faintest touch of the cool jelly against his hole. Steve didn’t move his finger except to press it, infinitely slowly, toward Bucky until his fingertip came into contact with Bucky’s sphincter. He simply left it there while he continued with his oral exploration of Bucky’s chest. It all felt extraordinarily good, especially the way Steve was using his teeth, just a little. Bucky couldn’t help squirming, feeling himself grow impatient to feel that mouth on his nipples, and cried out softly when Steve finally pressed his lips to one. Steve’s impish chuckle made gentle fun of that, but he also opened his lips and tried a little lick. 

Bucky’s reaction was even better than he’d hoped. He gasped and pushed up toward Steve’s mouth. Even better, he tilted his hips just a bit to move his hole against Steve’s finger. For the next several minutes, Steve licked and kissed and gnawed at Bucky’s nipples. As much as he’d admired Bucky’s chest, he’d never even thought of doing this before. Now, he found it made his dick ache with desire and drip against the towel. At the same time, he slowly, experimentally used his finger to circle around the outside of Bucky’s hole, just getting them both used to the idea of him touching Bucky there.

It worked. It wasn’t many minutes later that Bucky was rhythmically rolling himself against Steve’s finger, and finally grunted an anguished, “Slide it in, Stevie. I gotta feel you inside me.”

Steve had been thinking about that. Half-crazy with desire as he was, as convinced as he was that he’d die if he didn’t fuck Bucky soon, his priority was still to avoid hurting the man he loved. He used his other hand to bring the jar of Vaseline to where he was torturing Bucky with his finger, and without breaking that contact, dipped his pinky finger into it. Then he touched it to Bucky, along with the first, and continued to tease his hole for a few more circles before gently, carefully, pushing against the opening with his little finger. 

Bucky moaned lewdly and swore under his breath, but Steve knew by the way he rocked against his finger that he wasn’t complaining. By the time Steve had his entire little finger inside Bucky, he was greedily pushing down to meet each gentle thrust. Steve didn’t wait to be begged this time; he simply switched to his middle finger as smoothly as he could, having dragged it through the Vaseline first. 

“Oh, fuck, Steve, oh hell that’s so good— Oh, fuck, that’s… I don’t even know… I—” Bucky babbled, whispering, but with a desperate whine behind the words.

“Yeah, Buck? You like that?” Steve murmured, lifting up on his elbow so he could see Bucky’s blissed-out face, eyes closed and mouth open wide. 

“So fuckin’ good—”

Bucky’s cock was as beautiful as the rest of him, resting hard and heavy against his stomach, where Steve could see precome glistening in the light from the window. “Yeah,” he said, “From the look of things, I’d say so. Never thought I’d get to do this to you, Bucky, fuck you with my fingers like this.”

The filthy roll of Bucky’s hips and the full-throated groan told Steve that Bucky had liked what he said. So he tried some more dirty talk. “You should see what I see, you all gorgeous and laid out, lettin’ me do this to you. Cock all big and hard. I’d love to draw you like this, with my finger up your ass—”

“Damn it, Steve,” Bucky near shouted. “Put another one! Come on, you’re killin’ me, oh fuck—”

This, Steve hadn’t planned ahead. How, exactly, was he supposed to do this? For the first time, he looked at where his finger disappeared into the wrinkled pink of Bucky’s ass and had to bite his tongue to keep from coming. It was by far the most obscene, most thrilling thing he’d ever seen. Suddenly, he was in as much of a hurry as Bucky was. He could see from the shine all around his hand that he had maybe put a little too much Vaseline on Bucky already, and certainly didn’t need more. So he used his already-slick index finger to tease next to the first until he found the courage to press in with it. Bucky pressed down toward it, which gave Steve the confidence to slide both, side by side, into him on the next thrust. Bucky cried out again.

“Shhhhhhhhh! We gotta be quiet,” Steve hissed.

“I know, sorry,” Bucky panted, opening his eyes to peek at Steve for a second. “It just feels… Ungh… fuck—”

“Does it hurt?”

“Um, I don’t… I don’t know. Yeah but… just don’t stop. Don’t, Stevie, it’s so good… It’s a lot, but…”

Looking up at Bucky, riding the wave of sensation, Steve again felt the urgent need to get where they were trying to go, before he simply burned up with want. He swept his eyes down Bucky’s sweat-slick body as he kept fucking into him, watching Bucky rock his ass down onto Steve’s fingers. When his eyes landed on Bucky’s cock again, he had a mind-bending idea. What if, while he was finger-fucking him, he put his mouth on him, too?

It wasn’t easy to shift himself around while continuing his strokes into Bucky. Eventually, he got himself up on his knees and one hand, so that he was able to bend down and put his mouth on Bucky’s dick. Bucky keened and babbled some more, while Steve tried to figure out what he was doing. This wasn’t quite like how he’d imagined. He kind of needed a hand, but one was inside Bucky and the other was supporting his weight, so he just started licking and running his open mouth over Bucky’s shaft, trying to coordinate everything he was doing. When he got to the head of Bucky’s dick, he leaned forward and sucked it into his mouth. He hadn’t expected Bucky’s spunk to have a taste, but it did. He was especially surprised to find it was salty. At first, he wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but then Bucky made some more helplessly debauched sounds and began to whine between gasps for air.

“More, Steve— But, I don’t know, shit, I’m so close, I— Maybe you shouldn’t… oh, fuck—”

Steve decided that, if he had undone Bucky this completely, he definitely liked everything he was doing. He kept his sucking light, flicking his tongue around Bucky’s head, getting used to the taste while he slid another finger into him, as slowly and carefully as he had the first two.

This time, Bucky was more uncomfortable. He hissed at the burn, stopping the rolling his hips and the whining. He grabbed handfuls of the sheets and concentrated on sucking in deep breaths. 

“Buck? You okay?”

A frown crossed his face before he answered breathily, “Yeah. Keep goin’. S’just a lot. Want this. Want you.”

Bucky was in a realm made up entirely of sensation. Somewhere below consciousness, he registered that Steve had his _mouth_ on his dick. That was gonna make him shoot his load just thinkin’ about it if he let himself. It helped, though, with the burn and the achy stretch. They were almost gone now, anyway, and oh, the feeling of Steve – any part of Steve – inside him was better than he’d ever dreamed. He was rock-hard, but it was actually difficult to concentrate on that with the exquisite new pleasure/pain/fullness he was experiencing. After a few minutes, there was only pleasure; the fullness was simply a part of it. He started to move again, fucking down onto Steve’s fingers, and it was St _eve’s_ fingers and they were inside him; Steve was fucking him, and—

“Stevie, stop, ya’ gotta—” Bucky let out a pained squeak when Steve pulled his fingers immediately and completely out of him and sat bolt upright.

“Sorry! Oh, shit, Bucky, I’m sorry!”

“No, no—” Bucky stammered, trying to focus his mind and remember how to use words. “Didn’t hurt, just… felt so fuckin’ good I was gonna blow, and I don’t wanna come yet until— Fuck me now, Steve, I’m ready. I’m so ready, I just need you now ‘cause I just… need—”

Bucky had gone from babbling to incapable of speech and was back to babbling now, simply lost to his need. Steve could have watched that forever, knowing that even if he wasn’t doing it too good, he was making Bucky beg and squirm. He was barely more coherent or in control himself. The one thing keeping him back was his still-lingering worry about hurting Bucky, but it was time. He seemed to be okay so far, and he was the one asking, so Steve reached for the Vaseline one last time, digging out way too much and slathering it on his dick.

He moved closer to Bucky, on his knees as close as he could get, which pushed Bucky’s knees out further. His legs didn’t seem to want to spread any more, but Steve couldn’t really see how he was going to reach like this. Just as his brow was furrowing into a frown of consternation while he tried to figure things out, Bucky instinctively lifted one leg and bent his knee back toward his body, tilting his pelvis up to exactly the right angle. He grunted impatiently and muttered something like, “C’mon, dammit,” so Steve leaned down and took his well-lubed dick in hand. 

Touching the tip of his cock to Bucky’s hole was just about enough to set him off right there. He had to spend a moment gathering himself before he leaned his weight forward a little, putting a bit of pressure to Bucky’s loosened rim. Loosened, but still not easy to breach. Steve kept inching forward, increasing the pressure bit by bit and watching Bucky’s face. He felt like he was shoving himself into Bucky, but in reality he wasn’t pushing nearly hard enough. With his fear of hurting this man he adored and his total lack of experience, he began to feel beads of sweat form at his hairline.

“Stevie, just do it,” Bucky coaxed. “Ain’t gonna hurt me, just… c’mon!”

Steve decided that strategy was the way to go. He moved even closer to Bucky, put an arm on Bucky’s bent leg, and began to push the head of his cock against his hole, rocking rhythmically a little harder each time. Bucky seemed to like that, and soon Steve could feel the hard ring of muscle relax a little, so he kept going. 

He was in no way prepared for the intensely tight heat when the head of his cock finally breached Bucky. They both instinctively stopped moving, Bucky again breathing in sucking gasps, and Steve just trying not to shoot off from the sheer mindblowing feeling of his dick inside another person. 

Neither of them knew who started moving again, or when; they both just noticed after a while that they were rocking together, Steve’s cock sliding a tiny bit further in on each slight thrust. When they’d worked up to about half of Steve’s cock sliding into Bucky each time, Bucky reached up and pulled Steve’s head down for a long, deep kiss. 

“Can’t believe we’re finally here,” he murmured hotly. “Love you so much, Steve.”

Steve didn’t mean to shove the rest of the way in on his next thrust. His control had simply snapped at Bucky’s words, and he’d sunk himself balls deep in Bucky with a strained cry. 

“Oh, shit, oh—”

Before he could yank his cock out of Bucky like he’d done his fingers, Bucky grabbed Steve’s hips with his hands and threw his leg over Steve’s back. “Stay there! Just… just don’t move for a minute. Just… fuck, Steve, we’re—”

The kisses were messy and too frenzied to be much good, wet and filled with tongues and teeth clicking together. But they were absolutely necessary for both of them. They gave Steve and Bucky something to focus on rather than where their bodies were joined and their imminent orgasms while Bucky’s body adjusted to being filled by Steve. Steve, too, needed to wrap his mind around the unbelievably tight molten heat surrounding him. By the time they were ready to move, Steve had told Bucky he loved him at least five times and Bucky was smirking into their kisses as their positions reversed and now it was Steve whose brain was on overload.

It was over very quickly once Bucky started tiny rolls of his hips. Steve never got as far as one full-length thrust before he was exploding into Bucky’s heat with a scream that he muffled against Bucky’s shoulder. The sounds he made were obscene, which was all it took for Bucky to feel the wave of ecstasy begin to wash over him. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to hold off, but it was all simply too overwhelmingly good, too perfect. Steve was nowhere near finished shuddering when Bucky gave himself over to the longest, hardest orgasm he’d ever had in his life.

They fell asleep for a while afterward, then forced themselves to wash up and brush their teeth before wrapping themselves around each other in Bucky’s bed. They’d deal with the mess they’d made of Steve’s tomorrow. For tonight, they relaxed into their embrace and slept like the dead until morning.

* * *

Bucky had already been awake for some time before Steve finally blinked his way to consciousness. He realized he was smiling, and thought maybe he’d been smiling in his sleep, which wouldn’t have surprised him at all. The thing that finally brought him fully awake was the sudden thought that Bucky never woke before he did. He wondered if Bucky was all right.

Bucky felt Steve stiffen and lift his head from the pillow to look at him. He turned to grin at the man he loved beyond reason, with his unruly blond hair and eyes the color of a summer sky. Bucky wished he could think of something sweet and romantic to say that would let Steve know how completely he had altered Bucky’s life in one night. Or maybe it had taken every day since they met. Either way, it was permanent.

He opened his mouth to pour out his love to Steve and the words that came out were, “You look like you’ve been fucking. Floozie.”

Steve’s dazzling smile felt to Bucky like the center of the universe. “Pretty sure you’re naked under here, too, sport. What’s that make you?”

“The guy who’s in love with you, that’s who.” There. He’d managed to say something at least a little bit closer to how he was feeling.

But the light in Steve’s eyes dimmed a bit at that. “I love you, too, Buck.”

“Hey. You okay?”

“Am _I_ okay?”

“You made a face. And I did deflower you. Some people get a little weird about that.”

Steve shook his head and gave Bucky that disapproving grin he loved so much. But he got serious quickly. “Are _you_ okay? You’re not too sore? Do you need anything, or…”

“Steve,” Bucky said, kissing him to shut him up. “I’m good. Yeah, sore, but I figured that’d happen. Ain’t gonna be ready to do that again for a couple days, probably, but—”

“Wait, _again_?” Steve sat up, shocked. The quilt fell away from his pale chest, and Bucky took in the collarbones sticking out so far there were shadows under them, the pinkish nipples and the too-visible ribs. He planned to count them with his tongue in a little while. 

“Yeah. And again and again and again. As much as you’ll let me.”

“But—”

“Listen to me, Steve. I’ve been layin’ here thinkin’ and I realized some stuff.” Bucky’s expression was serious, his voice calm and firm. There was no joke, no teasing in his manner. “First off, I never felt anything like you and me last night. Nothin’ even close. I’m queer, Steve. Maybe I like girls a little, but you— I feel like everything ‘till now was some kinda pretend thing. Fake, you know? And second, I ain’t givin’ you up without a fight. I know, we could get in real trouble if anyone knew. We’re gonna hafta be careful, and I got some ideas about that. Maybe we can look up Jasper and, I don’t know, meet some of his friends so at least we don’t gotta hide what we are to eachother from _everybody_. But, Steve, I don’t care what we gotta do. I love you. I wanna be with you. I want you to be my fella and I wanna be yours. That’s what I been layin’ here thinkin’ about, lookin’ at your pretty face waitin’ for you to wake up so I can love on you some more.”

The confident lover of last night was gone for the moment. In his place sat nervous, self-conscious Steve with his hair falling into his eyes and those furrows in his brow. “Bucky, you’re not—”

“If you ask me if I’m messin’ with you, I’m gonna sock you. Which is not the kind of physical activity I got in mind for this morning.” Bucky’s tone softened as he leaned closer, looking up into Steve’s eyes from under his lashes. “You know me better’n that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I mean, I’m not much to look at. You, you’re so damn handsome you could have anyone you wanted. How come you’re willing to take all those chances ‘cause of me? Wouldn’t you rather be with some—”

“No. I wouldn’t. I know I got lousy taste, but I can’t help it. You’re the one I love, Steve. You. So you better get used to it.”

“Is this a dream?”

Bucky laughed and pulled Steve back down into his arms. “Yeah. And a damn good one, too.”

Long moments of kissing and the beginnings of some promising touching later, Steve pulled back a little to look into Bucky’s eyes again. “I love you,” he said, like it was a pronouncement.

“You better be sure about that. ‘Cause after this, you’re never gettin’ rid of me.”

“Good. Then it’s you and me, ‘til the end of the line.”

“’Til the end of the line,” Bucky agreed solemnly.

“Sounds like a wedding vow.”

“It is, Stevie,” Bucky breathed. 

“Only one we’re ever gonna get.”

“Only one I’m ever gonna need. Now shut up and kiss your groom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this fic until the end. I really hope you enjoyed it. I honestly thought I didn't ship Shrinkyclinks, but when I saw LittleWolf82's art, I suddenly saw Bucky and pre-serum Steve in a whole new light.  
> Please, please comment. One of the things that inspires a fic writer to write more is to know that you're out there, and what you think. I love Stucky, and a big part of the fun of fandom is sharing it. Squee with me! Come say hi on Tumblr! Let's hang!


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